


The Devil and Darcy Lewis

by Em_Jaye



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: A mishmash of all kinds of lore, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Fairy tales and mythology, Gen, I'm going to keep repeating myself, If you're looking for Good Guy Loki this is not the story for you, Loki is a bad guy, This is NOT a Loki Redemption Piece, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-01-17 03:36:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12356619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em_Jaye/pseuds/Em_Jaye
Summary: The first time Darcy met the Devil, she was eight years old.





	1. 1995

**Author's Note:**

> Think of this as a teaser for my next multi-chapter fic once I'm out of the Officer Lewis Chronicles. I got bit by this idea and have the wonderful @amerna to thank for talking me into plotting it all out and writing it. Halloween-time seemed like the perfect time to post a teaser and get the creative juices flowing. I don't want to give anything away, but there will be lots of magic and high stakes and--of course--a Shieldshock pairing when all is said and done. 
> 
> Here's hoping it whets the appetite...

_Hyde Park, New York_

 

The first time Darcy met the Devil, she was eight years old.

Her parents were distracted; busy unpacking the ocean of brown cardboard boxes that had arrived that morning in their new home in upstate New York. Her mother, already on edge from having spent the night on an air mattress with a slow leak, had gently ordered her out of the kitchen and told her to go play.

The October air was crisp as she stepped off the driveway. It tasted different here than the air in the city. Sharper, she decided, taking in a breath that bit at her lungs. The leaves were orange and brown and crunched under her boots with each step. She looked up and studied the lacy edge of yellow leaves against the clear blue sky and felt the absence of the skyscrapers deep in her chest. Their new house was too big and too quiet and the silence that had fallen with the sunset the night before had been too heavy to let her sleep.

A rustle of leaves snapped her attention down from the sky and she found herself met with an unexpected sight. A dog, the size of a German Shepherd with long, thick black fur was sitting at the edge of the tree line. Darcy stopped, apprehensive, as the dog met her gaze. His ears cocked forward and his head tilted to one side, regarding her with curiosity.

She felt herself smile as her fear vanished as quickly as it had come. “Hi, puppy,” she said softly and resumed her approach again. The dog stayed where he was, watching her, waiting as she came closer. As she neared the trees, Darcy glanced back over her shoulder. She could still see her house—could still see her mother through the tall kitchen windows and hear the rise and fall of her parents’ voices as they argued over where to put what furniture.

When she looked back, the dog had taken off at a trot into the forest. “Hey,” she called, craning her neck to follow his path with her eyes. “Hey, come back!” His dark eyes found hers through the tangle of branches as he stopped for a moment and spared one look back, urging her to follow.

She went into the woods without a second thought, pushing away the leaves and brambles and always managing to keep the dog in her line of sight. “Come here,” she called.

The dog left an easy trail of kicked up leaves and broken branches for her to follow until the path they were on gave way to a clearing and he disappeared behind a wide tree trunk. Darcy stopped and caught her breath, her hands falling to her hips as she looked around in confusion. “Hey,” she called again. “Where’d you go?” She waited for a moment before her shoulders fell in disappointment. “I probably could have kept you,” she muttered as her lips pouted and she turned around to return home.

Darcy stopped dead with a gasp.

A man was standing in front of her. Tall and thin in a black suit with pale skin and shoulder-length black hair and crystal-clear blue eyes. He smiled when she raised her eyes to his. “Hello there,” he said a voice that was almost friendly. “Lost your pup?”

She shook her head. “He’s not mine,” she said, her hands curling into fists as she tucked them into her pockets. “I just…” she paused and frowned. “I just followed him in here.”

“Ah,” the man nodded with understanding before he glanced around. “I’m sorry I didn’t see where he went.”

She forced a smile she hoped was polite. “It’s okay,” she said quickly. “He probably belonged to someone else.”

He nodded again and Darcy felt her gaze drawn to his face. He was handsome, she decided, but there was something not quite right about him. There was something keeping her eyes looking straight at him. Something that told her if she tried to look away, he would look different. Something that told her she wouldn't like what she saw. His eyes roamed the clearing for a moment before he spoke again. “Quite a forest, isn’t it?”

Darcy swallowed hard. “I’m not lost,” she insisted. “I know just how to get back.”

“Of course you do!” he agreed with a smile. “I bet you and your friends know these trees like the backs of your hands.”

She frowned again. “No,” she admitted. “It’s just me.”

He looked surprised. “No friends? Charming girl like you? Whyever not?”

“We just moved here,” she said and pointed over his shoulder the way they’d come. “I haven’t met any friends yet.”

The man offered another smile. “Well that’s not true anymore now, is it?” he asked. “You’ve met me.” He offered a large, pale hand for her to shake. “Loki, Prince of Asgard and Jötunheimr, it’s an honor to make your acquaintance.”

She blinked in surprise and found herself unclenching her fingers to grasp his hand in hers. “Darcy Lewis,” she said, disappointed in her plain name for only a moment before she added, “Second Runner-Up in the Roosevelt Island Spelling Bee.”

Loki hadn’t let go of her hand yet. “You know,” he said, “I’ve lived a very long time and met a great many people, but do you know I’ve never met a second runner-up of a spelling bee before?”

Despite the twists of apprehension still squirming in her belly, Darcy smiled. “I would’ve won,” she said, “but I forgot the ‘e’ on the end of ‘coerce’.”

Her new friend looked impressed. “That’s a big word for a little girl. Bet you’ll never forget that ‘e’ again, will you?”

“Nope,” she shook her head. “But I should go back; I’ve been gone too long.”

“Shouldn’t take you too long now,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

Darcy frowned and tore her gaze away from his. She looked up, surprised to find that he’d brought her back to the edge of the forest. Her new house waited at the edge of the sprawling lawn, the moving van still in the driveway, her mother still visible in the kitchen window. “How did you do that?” she asked, glancing up at him out of the corner of her eye.

Her stomach dropped and she pulled her hand from his. At the top of his head, peeking from his glossy black hair, were horns. Tarnished gold, twisted and rough, curling backward and up from his skull. Darcy gulped and turned to face him again. She took one step backward, toward the safety of her yard.

She blinked and squinted. The horns were gone. The wave of his hair a smooth, unbroken shock of black against his waxen skin. “Who are you…really?” she asked, her voice much smaller than she would have liked.

But the man only smiled again. “I’ve already told you,” he reminded patiently. “My name’s Loki and you and I are going to be very good friends.”

She swallowed hard again and took another tiny step away from him. “I…don’t think my mother would want me to be friends with a grown-up she doesn’t know,” she said carefully, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

Loki leaned forward and dropped his hands to his knees. “Well we’d better not tell her, then, hmm?” he asked and reached up to tap her on the nose. “Can’t have her spoiling our fun.”

Darcy blinked again as a spell of dizziness enveloped her. She squeezed her eyes tight and waited for the sudden spinning in her head to stop. There was a rush in her ears and a sting behind her eyes and then nothing.

It all stopped as quickly as it started.

Darcy pried her eyes open carefully and stared at the spot on the path where Loki had just stood. It was empty now. Not even a trampled branch or torn leaves to suggest anyone had been there. She stared for a few more minutes before she heard her father calling her from the back porch.

“Hey, cutie,” her dad greeted her with an easy smile as she climbed the back steps. “How’s the yard looking?”

She shrugged. “Looks okay, I guess.”

He clapped a hand to her shoulders and steered her toward the open patio door. “What were you doing over by the woods?”

Darcy stopped and opened her mouth to tell him about the man in black. About his dangerous eyes and his magic tricks and those beautiful, awful horns. Her father would know what to do, she told herself. He always had the answers for things she didn’t understand. “I saw…”

Her father stopped walking too and eyed her with concern. “You saw what, sweetheart?”

She closed her mouth again as her mind went blank. “I saw a dog,” she said remembering the pleasant German Shepherd she’d seen at the edge of their property. He was clear in her mind’s eye. A red collar and a shiny silver tag. A well-brushed brown coat and friendly brown eyes. “But he ran off into the woods. I think he’s probably the neighbor’s.”

 Her companion considered this with a nod. “Probably,” he said thoughtfully. “We’ll have to keep an eye out for him, yeah?” she nodded. “Was that all? Just the dog?”

 Darcy shrugged. “Uh-huh,” she said and took her father’s hand. She followed him without another thought or glance back at the trees and the dangers still lurking there.


	2. 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A secret, a witch, and a well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm borrowing heavily from the Poetic Edda (https://www.amazon.com/Poetic-Edda-Oxford-Worlds-Classics/dp/0199538387) and mixing in old Norse, Greek, Celtic, and Germanic myths together. This is just going to be a jumble of lore. If that's your jam, feel free to read on and I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> Also, this is my NaNo this year, so I'm playing around a little more than usual. If you're wondering when specifically things are taking place, I'm going to put the date or year as the chapter title.

_The underworld_

 

It was cold. Colder than he was used to. A howling wind bit at his skin and stung his eyes as he dropped his head to the chill and pressed forward, his coat wrapped tightly around him.

“I thought it would take more to chill the blood of a frost giant.”

The voice stopped Loki in his tracks. He lifted his gaze and saw her standing before him. Her skin was silvery gray and he could see the shape of what had once been her body through the smoky whispers of her clothes.

“Völva _,_ ” he addressed her warily as his hand reached, unseen deeper into his pocket to take cautious hold of his dagger.

“Weapons do you no good here, Laufeyson,” the witch said calmly, holding up a nearly transparent hand. “And a display of your temper will earn you none of my favor.”

Taken aback, and more than a little impressed, Loki withdrew his hands so she could see they were empty. “I suppose, you being all seeing and all knowing,” he began delicately, hoping to offer some kind of charm to which she might warm. “That you already know why I’ve sought your counsel.”                

“I do,” Völva answered with a slow nod. “Just as I know of your crimes on Midgard. And your betrayal of your brother and the allfather. But I must ask a question before I allow you to ask me for that for which you came.”

“And what is that?” he asked, willing himself to be patient.

“Have you learned enough yet, Laufeyson?”

He blinked. Not exactly the question he’d been expecting. “I’m sorry?”

“You’ve managed to slip free from your cell on Asgard--I assume with an illusion your jailers could not detect,” she observed, coming closer. The mist that rose from the ground mingled with the wispy, ghostly edges of her dress. “And though you could be galaxies away by now, enjoying your freedom, you’ve come to me instead. Seeking my aid in the same quest which imprisoned you in the first place. So my question is simple. Have you learned enough yet, Laufeyson? Have you learned enough to be able to make use of what you gather here? Or are you content to repeat the same mistakes over and over again?”

Her words were simple. Cutting. Loki grit his teeth and swallowed that sharp and spiny truth. He raised a hand and gently touched the scars above and below his lips—faded and barely noticeable now, but still there. Still a reminder of the time Odin had allowed his mouth to be sewn shut as punishment for a joke against the dwarves. “I’ve learned plenty,” he assured her. “And I no longer care what happens to Odin, or my sainted brother, Thor.” He smiled and reminded himself why he’d come and what he was after. “I’m here for something a little more interesting.”

“Ragnarok.”

“Ragnarok,” he repeated. “Tell me.”

“Everything that is foretold about the end of days is written in Odin’s book. I told the allfather everything I know.”

“Only you didn’t,” he insisted, willing to play her game of cat and mouse a little while longer. “You only told him what was inevitable. What was fated to happen no matter what. That’s not why I’ve come.”

Völva offered a brief, almost indulgent smile. “You’ve come for my secrets, trickster?”

“Just the one,” he assured her, and offered a smile just as quick in return. “I’m tired of waiting for the trumpet to sound,” he admitted. “I’m ready to watch the nine realms burn and you can tell me how.”

“And why should I?”

“According to your prophecy,” he began, grateful she asked a question he’d been expecting, “the dead rise once more at the sound of Heimdall’s horn. You can wait for another two thousand years to feel the sun on your face again, or you can set yourself and your sisters and all the other souls in the Underworld free well ahead of schedule. Give them back a taste of glorious battle and return yourself to a position of power as counsel to the new order.”

She stared at him, wide silver eyes unblinking as she slowly tilted her head to one side in consideration of his offer. After what felt like an eternity of silence between them, with only the wind howling in the distance, she spoke. “I have no desire to cross Gjöll again or return to the worlds above.”

Loki felt his heart sink. Everything Odin had told him about the Völva made it seem as though she resented her death, that she was lonely and sad. An old, forgotten crone at the end of the worlds. He hadn’t expected her to be beautiful--a whisper of a soul, made of silver mist and eyes that had seen far and beyond anything he could ever hope to know.

“What then?” he asked, raising his eyes to hers again. “What can I offer that would invite your empathy?”

Her expression was blank. “Nothing,” she said simply.

Again, Loki’s heart sank even as the wheels in his mind began turning, trying to come up with an alternative plan. A sacrifice he could promise.

“I have no stake in your conflict, Laufeyson,” she continued, deepening the pit of dread burrowing in his stomach. “There is nothing I need or want from you. All you need to do is ask with sincerity.”

He stopped his calculating and looked up.  “I beg your pardon?”

She almost smiled again. “I may be Völva, but I still appreciate a request more when it’s wrapped in pleasantry. And a simple answer merits a simple request.”

Loki stood up straighter despite the wind, heartened by her use of the word _simple_. He cleared his throat and offered what felt like a sincere smile. “Good Völva,” he said, pleased when she raised her brow in attention. “Would you do me the honor of gifting me with some of your knowledge?”

She blinked, finally and settled her expression into one more serene. The winds died down and the cold relented just a bit. When she spoke again, he expected a saga akin to the one she’d told Odin so many ages ago. An epic tale that would have him mesmerized, unable to think of anything else for days--even months. But all she said, after all his waiting, was, “Feed the wolf.”

He felt his features betray his curiosity. An eyebrow lifted with intrigue. “The wolf?” he repeated. “You mean Fenrir?”

Again, that flash of amusement. “Can you think of another?”

“Feed him what? And how?” he asked as more questions started bubbling in his mind. “And if I feed him, how do I keep him from eating me before he starts his rampage?”

“So many questions,” she commented mildly as one of her ghostly hands moved to the edge of her well. “What are you hoping I’ll tell you, trickster?”

Loki smirked. “Something simple,” he admitted in a rare moment of honesty. “Though something tells me that I’m going to have to offer him a bit more than fresh meat.”

“A bit,” she agreed. “Fenrir has been weakened in his bondage. But only just. He needs one good meal to restore his strength.” Loki lifted both of his brows expectantly. Völva waited until just before his anticipation was about to get the better of him. “Consuming the heart of a hero will return your wolf to form and give him what he needs to break free.”

“The heart of a hero?” he repeated, willing himself not to roll his eyes. “Where do you suggest I find one of those?”

This time, the witch actually laughed. A sound lighter than he expected with a musical ring that seemed to bounce cheerfully around them. “Can you think of no one who matches that description?”

He grimaced. “If you’re suggesting Thor—”

“Thor is fated to die in the struggle against the Midgard Serpent,” she interrupted with a wave of her hand. “I cannot change that, nor would it benefit you if I could.” She stared at him longer, waiting for him to come up with another idea before she shook her head and softly clucked her tongue. “Oh, how your hatred has defeated you, Laufeyson.”

But as much as he hated to admit it, Loki’s mind _was_ stuck on his brother. His quick wits were frozen with hatred. Resentment. The tiny grain of guilt these thoughts carried with them. It all swirled together, allowing him to think of nothing else except the promise of revenge. Of finally freeing, not only himself, but all of the nine realms from his brother and Odin’s rule once and for all.

“Who then?” he asked, trying not to sound desperate. “Fandral? Sif?”

“Warriors,” she conceded. “But not heroes. You’re getting closer.”

“Another warrior?” he guessed. “Heimdall? Or...” he trailed off at the realization that had been staring him directly in the face. He resisted the urge to drive the heel of his hand into his forehead at his own single-minded nature. “Please tell me it’s not the big green one, at least.”

“He’s hardly a warrior,” she reminded. “Brilliant and complex,” she added thoughtfully, “most certainly. But you’re looking for someone a bit more battleworn.”

Loki’s scarred lips curled into another smile. “The soldier.”

“The underworld has been waiting for him for quite some time. His reluctance to die has given the Norns quite a bit of trouble.”

“So there _is_ something to be gained from all of this,” he said, feeling his first real spark of hope since she’d mentioned Fenrir.

The Völva moved her shoulders in a graceful shrug. “I care about balance, not vengeance. The untangling of his timeline has been most troublesome for my sisters. I do what I can to alleviate their strife.”

“How noble of you,” he commented mildly. “And I’m just supposed to walk the good captain up to Fenrir’s jaws and hope he doesn’t put up a fight?”

She clucked at him again softly. “I said it would be _simple._ ” The word felt heavier now as it rolled off her tongue. It hung in the air between them. “Not easy. He must come willingly and with the knowledge of what he’s about to face.”

Each condition she dropped at his feet sank his heart lower in his chest. He remembered how quick the soldier had been. How hungry he was for a fight. How Loki had thought his bones might shatter the first time he’d been hit by the full force of that shield. He sighed and shook his head. “This might have been much less daunting a year ago,” he admitted.

He thought he caught a hint of a smile on her lips again.

“You intrigue me, trickster,” she said quietly. “I can plumb your mind for the true source of this lust for destruction and I find nothing.” Her serene expression clouded in confusion for a moment before she shook it away. “I find nothing but boredom at the heart of your resentment toward your brother and the allfather.” She looked expectant. “Is that all it takes for you to want to orchestrate the end of the worlds? A little boredom?’

He smiled again and held out his hands. “What can I say?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye. “I’m just trying to keep things interesting. And I think I’ll quite enjoy being in charge once Odin and Thor are dust, as is fated to happen, according to your prophecy.”

“I suggest you pay my sisters a visit,” she said after another long pause. “There’s a girl they speak of.  The string that ties her fate to his is part of what makes him such a troubling case. I would imagine that if it would make her job easier, Urd would fold you into the girl’s life.”

She drew her hand over the well again and motioned for him to look inside. In the inky black water below, he saw the shape of a child take form. Dark curly hair, large blue eyes, an overly trusting nature. “She doesn’t look like much,” he decided after a moment.

“Humans never do,” Völva reminded. “But Skuld has seen much in store for her. If you truly want the soldier’s heart for your sacrifice,” the girl in the well faded back beneath the water, “it’s her allegiance you need.”

“Urd can fold back time from the beginning?” The idea had caught his attention. “So that I can make her an ally before she can meet him?” he asked, suggesting it more to himself than to her. “If she were a child, it would be so much easier to gain her trust and use her later.” Possibilities had begun to swirl in his mind. Ways he could make a child trust him. How easy it would be to earn her sympathy for his plight.

“So certain of your ability to make her trust you, Trickster,” Völva commented, sounding almost amused. “Be careful,” she warned. “I’m told she’s clever and passionate, even as a child. Not always the most reliable mix.”

When Loki smiled again, it was sharp, determined. Eyes and teeth glinting in the silver mist. “She’s only a human,” he told the witch. “They can be so easily corrupted.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! 
> 
> Share the love on Tumblr @idontgettechnology and check out ishipitpod.com for more fanfic fun
> 
> *blows kisses*


	3. 1997 - 2013

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief history of magic, seduction, and persuasion

 

_New York_

 

 

The second time Darcy met the devil, it was by the water.

She was at Camp Lakota for the second summer in a row, dangling her short, pale legs off the algae covered dock. The moon hung low in the midsummer night sky and cast a long, lonely orange streak against the lake. The purple digital watch beeped on her wrist, telling her it was midnight and that she was officially ten years old.

If any of the counselors caught her out here, she’d catch hell for sure. It wouldn’t matter if it was her birthday, or if she told them that she’d only snuck out to get away from her cabin mates--one Emily and two girls named Lauren--two of whom snored and one who talked in her sleep. She didn’t want to risk her luck anymore than she already had by getting out of bed in the first place, so she stayed on the dock and resisted the urge to take a midnight swim to cool down. She liked camp too much to want to get into trouble.

Darcy let her hands drop behind her and she leaned back, tilting her head to study the sky. “Big Dipper,” she spotted, squinting at the bright pinpricks of starlight. Her eyes drifted to the left. “Orion’s Belt.” Her full lips dipped into a frown as she realized the names and locations of the constellations had not rooted as deeply in her mind as she thought. “Pineapple Girl,” she declared at another cluster of stars. “Sleepy Cat,” she named another. “And I think I’ll call that one...”

“That’s Lupus, the wolf,” a voice behind her said quietly and Darcy leapt in surprise before she scrambled to her feet.

“I was sleepwalking!” she lied immediately, holding her hands up like a fugitive as she turned to face the counselor.

But it was no counselor waiting to write her up or even another camper to get her in trouble. Darcy’s panic didn’t subside, even when the man smiled. “Hello Darcy,” he said, taking a casual step toward her. “Do you remember me?”

Despite the feeling in the pit of her stomach, Darcy felt herself nod slowly. “Loki,” she recalled, her voice just above a whisper. “But you’re not real,” she said before she could stop herself.

The man with the black hair smiled. It was the same, patient smile he’d given her in the woods on her first day in her new house. But he hadn’t been real then, the logical side of her brain told her. He’d been a figment of her imagination. A specter of a memory that danced on the edges of dreams she couldn’t quite recall. He couldn’t have been real, she told herself. Real men can’t do magic. And they certainly don’t have horns.

But this man didn’t have horns either. His hair was still long and silky black, combed carefully away from his angular face. And suddenly Darcy couldn’t remember what it was about their first meeting that had scared her so badly. His blue eyes crinkled at the sides. Smile lines deepened in his cheeks. “Did your mother tell you that?” he asked, that almost velvety accent smoothing away any malice Darcy might have been tempted to look for in his words.

She shook her head. “No,” she answered slowly. Why _hadn’t_ she told her mother about him when she’d first met him? Why hadn’t she told anyone?

He looked around innocently, an amused half-smile still on his face. “I feel pretty real,” he argued lightly. “And you seem pretty real, and certainly wide awake, so I don’t think that’s very fair to say.”

Darcy pursed her lips. “Sorry,” she muttered as her heartbeat slowly returned to normal.  “I didn’t mean to be rude.” 

He didn’t seem upset and sat down on the edge of the dock. Not too close. But he motioned for her to sit down. “No harm done,” he assured her. “I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to pay you a visit.”

“It’s okay,” she said, still apprehensive, as her legs folded underneath her and she sat back down. “I made a bunch of friends after you left.”

“I know,” he nodded. “More than you had in the city, yes?”

She nodded again. “Yeah. It was really easy at my new school,” she told him, a fact that still shocked her. Her classmates had greeted her like an old friend that first day of third grade. The teachers had been sweet and friendly, the classes--even the ones she’d struggled with before like math and language arts--were a breeze. Darcy was thriving in their new home in a way her parents hadn’t expected. She stopped her train of thought and tilted her head to one side. “Wait...how did you know?”

That smirk again. “I kept an eye on you, of course,” he said easily. “I wanted to be around if you needed me.”

She frowned. “What would I need you for?” she asked before she could wonder if that sounded rude, too. 

He shrugged. “That’d be up to you, wouldn’t it?”

With her confusion still heavily in control over fear or distrust, Darcy frowned deeper. “So, you knew I was here ‘cause you were watching me?”

“Not in a creepy way,” he assured her quickly. “I like to keep an occasional eye on the worlds of my friends.”

She lifted her thick brows. “You have friends on more than one world?”

“Dozens,” he said, almost carelessly. “You didn’t think your world was the only one in the cosmos, did you?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I’ve never thought about it.”

Loki nodded with understanding. “Most don’t,” he assured her. “But trust me--there are worlds far and beyond this one. Hundred of planets with billions and trillions of souls out there,” he pointed back to the constellations she’d been studying earlier.

Darcy couldn’t help but be impressed. “And you can visit them?”

He nodded again. “I can. And today, I decided to come to visit you, on your planet.”

Her planet. She liked the way that sounded. “How come?”

Loki blinked and lowered his gaze from the stars. “Because it’s your birthday,” he said, as if it were obvious. “I wanted to be the first to give you a present.”

She sat up straighter and felt a blush come to her cheeks. “Oh,” she said shyly.  The thought of this handsome man--one who could move through space at will and visit different planets in the blink of an eye--coming all the way back to Earth just to give her a birthday gift. “Thank you.”

His blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “Don’t you want to see what it is before you thank me?” She giggled nervously and nodded. Loki closed his eyes and rubbed his hands together. Darcy gasped as the air around him crackled with sparks of bright white light, like the glittering off-shoots of the sparklers that her mother used as birthday candles in her father’s cake every year. Silvery green smoke spilled from between his large, pale hands and Darcy felt herself mesmerized by the magic before her. “Hold out your arm,” he instructed, moving his palms in a slow circle against one another.

Hesitantly, Darcy held out her left hand, surprised when he motioned for her to turn it palm up. Before she could protest, Loki pressed an icy cold finger to the soft, pale flesh of the inside of her left wrist. She cried out, expecting it to burn before she realized all she felt was a light, warm current under her skin. When he pulled his hand away, he’d left a mark. A line about an inch long that ran vertically on her wrist, a small triangle in the middle, pointing toward him.

Any pain or discomfort she’d felt when he touched her had vanished in a flash. “What is it?” she asked, turning her head to study this new mark. It was a soft, light brown. Like a birthmark. The longer she looked at it, the more she liked it.

“That,” Loki tapped his handiwork lightly, “is your superpower, Darcy.”

She looked up, wide-eyed. “My superpower?”

He nodded. “With that mark, you can go anywhere in the universe.”

“I can?”

“Yes,” he said, seriously. “But only when you’re ready.”

She frowned. “How do I know when I’m ready?”

Loki leaned in close again, close enough for her to see the flecks of silver in his eyes. “I’ll tell you,” he promised. “And the minute you are, I’ll take you with me and show you the stars.”

Darcy looked down at the mark he’d given her again. Her heart swelled with possibilities. The thrill of the unknown suddenly so close she could almost taste it. She ran her thumb over it, wondering if he would tell her how this magic worked. How she was supposed to use this wonderful new gift. She opened her mouth to thank him again and let loose on an avalanche of questions bubbling inside.

But her thoughts were interrupted by a dull roar in her ears, a tingling, dizzy sensation that washed over her, making her grateful she was already sitting down. Her vision swam momentarily and she closed her eyes, hoping this flash of vertigo passed quickly.

When she opened them again, Loki was gone. She blinked furiously and scrubbed at her eyes as the feeling of dizziness and disorientation subsided. She looked around, trying to discern how he’d slipped away without her noticing, but he was just gone. Disappeared into thin air.

 

The watch on Darcy’s wrist beeped, letting her know that it was midnight and she was officially ten years old. She smiled down at the time and tilted her head back up to study the stars. “Big Dipper,” she said softly, pointing them out. “Orion’s Belt.” Her finger pointed south, “Lupus,” she said softly, unable to remember where she’d learned that one or why it was her favorite. “The wolf.”

 

***

 

By the time she was thirteen, she’d forgotten to be wary when Loki came to visit. There were so many things about him that should have troubled her. Things that confused her when he was standing in front of her, offering presents and stories from places with names like Alfheim and New Xanth. Things she wanted to ask or look up later, but that slipped from her memory the moment he left.

But it wasn’t that she wasn’t _allowed_ to ask questions. He always answered the ones she managed to voice. Usually with a smile and a simple, straightforward response.

“Where did you learn to do that?” she asked once, when he’d transformed her tabby cat into a panther and back again before the animal had even woken up.

“My mother taught me,” he said. “She’s one of the most powerful witches in the realm.”

“Do you have a school?” she asked, tucking her feet beneath her on her bed. “Like Hogwarts?”

He chuckled. “Not exactly.”

“Can you teach _me_ how to do magic?” Darcy asked, undeterred by the vague nature of his response.

“Someday,” he promised lightly. “What would you use it for if I taught you now?”

She frowned and shrugged before she glanced down at herself. “Honestly?” she asked. “I’d make myself look like Christina Aguilera.”

It filled her with a warm, tingling current when she made him laugh. He closed and his eyes and shook his head as his chuckles subsided. “But then who would look like you?”

“Probably someone super unlucky,” she challenged. “Who’d want to look like a size twelve with these bug-eyes and Charlie Brown cheeks?”

Loki looked surprised at her outburst. His eyes softened, and he reached out a hand to push back her fluffy, brushed out curls. “If I could teach you any kind of magic, my sweet friend, it would be the ability to see just how lovely you truly are. And how important.”

Her skin hummed long after he’d moved his hand away. She swallowed hard. “Important?”

“You have no idea,” he said softly before he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “And someday, I’ll take you with me and show you just how much the universe needs Darcy Lewis.”

If her parents and teachers noticed she suddenly started carrying herself differently, that her confidence had returned full-force, they were grateful for the change. If they’d asked her if something had happened to bring her back from the typical pit of adolescent self-loathing, she wouldn’t have been able to tell them.

She didn’t know herself.

 

***

 

“What’s wrong with Culver?” Loki asked, looking over her shoulder at the acceptance letters Darcy had spread out across the dining room table. Her parents were gone for the weekend, having left their seventeen-year-old daughter with explicit instructions that she was not to have any guests in the house and she was expected to have chosen a college by the time they got home, Sunday night.

She frowned and reached again for the letter. “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I only applied to see if I’d get in. I’m not sure I actually want to go all the way to Virginia.”

“Virginia’s beautiful,” Loki commented lightly.

Darcy snorted. “You’ve never been to Virginia,” she declared and took a sip from her mug of coffee.

“I’ve told you about the socioeconomic collapse of Dyofor and the refugee crisis on Wungadore II and how many galaxies you can see from the edge of the Bifrost and you _doubt_ that I’ve been to Virginia?” Loki asked, a smile in his voice that betrayed the indignation he was trying to sell.

Darcy was unimpressed. “Virginia seems a little anticlimactic after an itinerary like that, don’t you think?”

“Sometimes a bloke needs a vacation,” he reminded and shifted the letters and information packets so that Culver University was at the top of the pile. “And Willowbark, Virginia is the perfect place to gather your wits about you.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s Willow _dale_ ,” she reminded him and took a closer look at the course catalogue. “And they _are_ offering more in scholarships than SUNY or Sarah Lawrence…” she mused, twisting her lips in thought.

“And a far more impressive faculty,” Loki chimed in with a hand on her shoulder. “You’d have the chance to intern with some of the greatest minds in the country.”

She turned to the back of the information packet. Amidst the stock photos of students lounging on grassy knolls and clumps of co-eds talking animatedly to a professor, was a brief spotlight feature, highlighting the ground-breaking work of Dr. Jane Foster, astrophysicist.

 

***

 

Darcy dropped the heavy box labeled “Jane’s Books 6/10” on the coffee table and huffed as she stood and adjusted the yoga pants that had started to slip on the walk down the hall. “Hey Jane,” she called toward the back of the giant space. Her voice echoed off the freshly painted walls and the bamboo floors. “Remember when I said we were strong, independent women who didn’t need no mens and could do this whole move ourselves because Girl Power?”

“Yeah?” Jane asked, coming back into the living room, dragging an end table from where she’d originally put it in her office. “What about it?”

“It was dumb. What did you have to listen to me for?” She swiped at her brow with the back of her wrist as Jane laughed. “Seriously, though. You have a boyfriend with biceps bigger than my bathroom and somehow, I’m stuck hauling all your shit. How does that make any sense?”

“Okay, okay,” Jane held up her hands and pulled her phone from her back pocket. “I completely agree and I’m calling him to ask for help with the furniture.”

“Thank you,” Darcy sighed, forcing herself to stay upright and not collapse on the floor like she wanted to. “I’m also legitimately dehydrated,” she added with a glance toward the kitchen. “Do you have water yet?”

Jane shook her head. “Tony said he’s still working on it? But there’s a community kitchen on the next floor up that Thor said is always stocked.”

She grinned. “When it’s time to negotiate your contract with Stark, how about you bargain for a space in this sweet tower life for your research assistant?”

Jane raised her phone to her ear and grinned back. “I’ll do what I can,” she promised.

Darcy found the kitchen with relative ease. Stocked was a bit of an understatement. She found seven different kinds of bottled water in the refrigerator, all manner of produce, meat and dairy products in the shelves and drawers of the stainless-steel monstrosity. She chose a bottle of lime seltzer and a small block of sharp cheddar cheese to snack on while she debated if Jane might want something.

The cheese got lodged in her throat when she closed the refrigerator door and found someone standing behind it. A tall, blonde, ridiculously well-muscled someone who held up his hands and immediately looked apologetic.

“I’m sorry!” he said quickly. “I thought you heard me. Are you okay? I should have said something.”

Darcy coughed and pounded a fist once on her chest before she was able to swallow, and her eyes stopped watering. “It’s fine,” she croaked and tried a few deliberate gulps to make sure her airway was clear. She took a drink of seltzer and shook away the urge to be embarrassed. “I’m okay,” she assured him, noticing that the lines of concern on his brow didn’t fade easily. “Really.”

“I really am sorry,” he insisted. “I’m not used to anyone else being in here. Are you…?”

“Oh,” she blinked and looked down at her grungy ACDC t-shirt and well-worn yoga pants. “I’m helping my friend move in downstairs. I just came up to steal some snacks.”

“It’s not stealing if they’re for everyone,” he reminded with a polite half-smile. The smile snapped her memory of him into place. History books. Film strips.

Captain America.

“Right you are,” she declared with a grin. “I’m Darcy, by the way. I work with Dr. Foster,” she wiped a hand on her shirt and offered it out.

He shook it with that same polite smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Darcy,” he said with a nice, firm grip. “I’m Steve.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” she said genuinely, deciding she didn’t need to tell him she already knew that. “If you feel like hauling some unnecessarily heavy, antique furniture into Jane’s new digs, consider yourself invited.”

His smile looked a little more genuine by the time he let go of her hand. “You know, that sounds a lot more exciting than the meeting I’m scheduled for with Director Fury.”

“Well,” she shrugged. “I guess I’ll go have all the fun myself. But you’re missing out.” She grabbed her drink and her second block of cheese and headed for the hallway. “See you around, Steve.”

“Yeah,” he said and raised a mildly awkward hand in her direction. “I uh,” he stopped as she reached the door. “Yeah. See ya.”

 

By the time she got home—house-sitting at her aunt’s cramped Brooklyn studio while she was in Germany—every muscle in Darcy’s body ached. She collapsed on the bed face-first and gave a valiant attempt at kicking off her sneakers before the effort outweighed the desire and she gave up, letting her feet dangle listlessly off the bed.

“I thought the idea of a comfortable Stark Industries job was _less_ exhaustion,” a familiar voice came from behind her.

Darcy groaned and lifted a hand. “Shoo. I’m gross and tired.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Loki said, amused.

With a heavy sigh, Darcy shifted on the squeaky bed and rolled to her back. Loki was leaning in the doorway to the bathroom, looking quite at home as he watched her resituate and shove her hair away from her face. “How can I help you, Magic Man?” she asked tiredly. “And don’t think I’m not happy to see you,” she added. “I feel like it’s been awhile.”

She never really knew how long it had been between Loki’s visits. By now, she was used to not remembering him until he was standing in front of her. She’d spent her life waiting for him to appear without realizing it. She’d watched with glittering eyes while he made beautiful magic right before her and doted on her with gifts from the far reaches of the universe. He’d been her friend, her counselor, her confidante.

He’d appeared whenever she needed him, even though she’d never learned how to call him. He’d patted her hair when she cried after her first boyfriend broke her heart. He’d told her jokes and made her laugh again when he rode next to her on the way back from visiting her mother in the hospital. He’d been silently beside her later, a hand on the small of her back, when they’d lowered the casket into the soft soil and said prayers in the rain.

“It has been,” he admitted, pulling her back to the present. “I wanted to come before but…”

She frowned. “But what?’ she asked, summoning her strength to sit up all the way. She tucked her feet, still clad in sneakers, under herself and motioned for him to sit with her on the bed. “What’s going on?”

For the first time in almost twenty years, Loki looked nervous. He opened his mouth to speak and closed it again. “I’m not sure I should involve you,” he said after a moment.

Darcy’s heart stuttered. “Involve me?” she repeated. “Involve me with what? What’s wrong?”

“I’ve just…” Loki stopped and shook his head. “No, it isn’t right.”

She felt her brow furrow. “ _What’s_ not right?”

“You’re so excited to be here,” he said after a long moment’s consideration. “It isn’t fair to ask you to do anything to compromise that.”

Darcy crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. “Why don’t you just tell me what’s got you all worked up and I’ll see if I can help?” she suggested, not liking the sharp twist of dread in her stomach. When he still didn’t agree, she softened further. “Come on,” she said, lifting her eyebrows expectantly. “I never get to help you out—it’s always the other way around. Let me repay the favor.”

He smiled softly and reached out to stroke her cheek with affection. “My darling girl,” he said quietly. “I certainly hope you can.”

She smiled encouragingly. “Hit me. What have you been up to?”

“I’ve been…” he paused and reseated himself to be sitting directly across from her, looking at her straight on. “There’ve been some whispers in the cosmos,” he said, that nervous look stealing back across his features. “That something…that certain people are in danger of…” he paused again. “Well, the straight-forward version would be that they’re in danger of ending the world.”

Darcy gulped. “Oh.”

“It sounds a bit foolish to lay it all out like that,” he continued. “So blunt. But I’ve been studying with the Norns and Skuld—” he stopped again. “Do you remember what I taught you about the Norns?”

She smiled patiently. “Yes,” she promised. “Skuld can see the future, I remember.”

“Skuld is concerned that this unit of heroes who’ve just united—”

“The Avengers?” Darcy asked, trying out the word she’d heard on the news after the Battle of New York. The world was just starting to get used to it--starting to get used to the idea of a group of genuine superheroes teaming up to protect them. “What about them?”

“Their allegiance may not be what’s best for the world after all,” he admitted sadly. “Skuld warns that they’re in danger of unintentionally setting Ragnarök into motion.”

Darcy’s frown deepened. “She thinks the Avengers are going to somehow cause the apocalypse?”

“I don’t have as many details as I’d like,” Loki hurried on. “As unfortunately, divination isn’t an exact science.”

“Ya don’t say,” Darcy added dryly, happy when she coaxed a brief smile from her friend.

“I need to gather more information,” he admitted. “But in the meantime…” he trailed off and shook his head. “It’s terrible of me to ask, but—”

She offered a half smile. “You want me to keep an eye on them?” she suggested. “Make sure they’re not doing anything…Ragnarök-y?”

“It would be so helpful,” Loki assured her. “Especially their captain. I believe he’s called Steve?”

Darcy blinked. “Steve? Captain America Steve?” she scoffed. “That Golden Retriever I met this afternoon? What’s he going to do? Guilt the world into ending with a rousing speech about patriotism?”

Loki didn’t laugh this time. “Don’t underestimate him, Darcy,” he warned. “He’s a man with very strong convictions and very little to lose. And the others follow him wherever those convictions lead.”

The knot in her stomach twisted again. “Okay,” she relented. “Fair enough. I’ll keep an eye on them for you. On all of them.”

As he’d done so many times in the past, Loki leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Just protect yourself, Darcy,” he said softly. “I know it feels unlikely, but prophecies from the Norns are not something to be taken lightly. You’re going to be working closely with these people—I’m sure it will be very easy to assume and look for the best in them.”

She watched his expression, how he was struggling with asking for her help. “I can look for the best and prepare for the worst at the same time,” she assured him. “It’s like, 90% of politics.”

He still looked grim.  “Just promise you’ll be careful. That you won’t do anything risky.”

“I promise,” she said easily and reached out to take his hands in hers. “But you be careful too. And find out whatever you can about his whole…apocalypse thing.” She gave him a squeeze. “I kind of like this world, you know,” she added with a grin. “Be a shame to see it end anytime soon.”

Loki gripped her hands tightly in his. “Yes,” he said and offered her a smile in return. “It certainly would.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly? Writing this chapter made me feel kind of dark and twisty inside...
> 
> Let me know what you think?
> 
> Share the love on Tumblr @idontgettechnology and check out ishipitpod.com for more fanfic fun
> 
> *blows kisses*


	4. 2013

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Giving credit where credit is due before we get into the limited amount of happiness that exists in this fic:  
> -Mindhunter  
> -Maria Bamford  
> -A Tumblr headcanon about the reason behind the awful "language" line. 
> 
> Let's go, beebs

 

_New York City_

_2013_

 

Jane looked up from her whiteboard and noticed that she no longer had the attention of her assistant. She smiled and tossed a spare dry erase marker across the room to land on the book Darcy had stopped even pretending to read. She laughed when her target jumped. “Welcome back,” she said dryly. “I need your help.”

“I was present and accounted for,” Darcy insisted, closing the manuscript in front of her and getting to her feet. “And—not be rude—but proofreading your third dissertation isn’t exactly a wild ride. Although,” she added thoughtfully. “You do play fast and loose with those commas, girl.”

Jane grinned. “I’ve gotta keep you awake somehow.”

“Here I am,” she held up her hands as evidence. “Wide awake and ready to help. What are we doing?”

Her boss handed her a sheet of complex equations and flipped the whiteboard to a blank slate. “If you could read these off to me so I can copy them down—I’m afraid if I transpose a number or a variable…”

“You’ll blow a hole in the universe?” Darcy asked, lifting one unimpressed eyebrow.

Jane frowned. “Something like that.” She nodded to the paper. “Hit me.”

Darcy read and Jane wrote and she was almost able to keep her attention on the task at hand until the double doors to the lab slid open and Tony Stark walked in with Dr. Banner in tow. “Good morning,” he called with a smile. “How’s the science?”

“Freshly brewed,” Darcy quipped and motioned to the coffee pot in the corner. “Help yourself.”

“Thank you,” Tony said smoothly and did just that. He offered an empty mug to his companion. “Bruce? You want?”

The mild-mannered Banner shook his head with a smile. “I’ve got some tea back in my office.”

Tony shrugged and drank his black. “So, everybody good?” he asked, looking between Jane and Darcy. “Everybody happy?”

The women shared a glance and Darcy quirked an eyebrow. “We’re good,” she said slowly. “Are _you_ good?”

“I’m great,” he said with a bright smile. “I’m just trying this new thing where I visit people and get to know everyone in the company.”

Jane still looked confused. “And you decided to start with us?”

“No,” Bruce interrupted. “He decided to start with me, but then he remembered that we’ve known each other for over a year so we came down here because I wanted to make sure you had the updated requisition codes.”

Darcy watched Jane’s expression relax. “I only have what Pepper sent out last month?” she said, starting to walk them both toward her laptop.

“Yeah, there are a few new ones that weren’t in that email,” he said as he slipped his glasses back on his face. “If you don’t mind, I can update your stuff for you, so you don’t have to worry about replacing them all.”

“Help yourself,” Jane said brightly.

Darcy stayed where she was and watched Tony wander over to Jane’s equations, sipping at his coffee. “You’re staring at me,” he stated, not turning around. “It’s rude. Why are you staring?”

“I’m not staring,” Darcy argued lightly. “I’m studying.”

“Sorry kiddo,” he turned and offered her a sympathetic smile. “This is strictly an audit-only course these days,” he motioned to himself. “No more class participation.”

Darcy willed her face to stay neutral and not wrinkle with disgust at the insinuation. “Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Stark,” she said flatly. “You’re old enough to be my father.”

He winced. “Guess I deserved that,” he decided with a nod. “And you can call me Tony.”

“Not if you think I’m hitting on you, I can’t.”

“Fair enough,” he considered, just as quick with his responses as she was. “If you weren’t admiring my well-aged physique,” he shot her a grin with a raise of his eyebrows before he looked down to peruse Jane’s blueprints for her portal platform. “What were you looking for?”

“Trying to figure out if this impromptu visit has anything to do with the email Pepper sent out first thing this morning.”

Tony looked up. “Pepper sent an email?”

Darcy nodded. “Something about you throwing her a birthday party? And how we weren’t under any obligation to come no matter what you said, and we weren’t going to be fired for not attending?” she shrugged with feigned carelessness. “Something like that.”

He groaned. “That woman,” he muttered. “Is it the worst thing in the world if I want everyone to join me in celebrating the fact that she was born and she’s a goddess who walks among us?”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “When’s the party?”

“Two weeks from Saturday,” he said immediately. “Bring your friends.”

She frowned and pointed at Jane. “She’s pretty much it at the moment.”

“Perfect,” he shrugged. “Bring her and make some new friends while you’re at it. You two need to get out more anyway, you’re both looking kind of pale.”

She arranged her features in her best deadened expression. “That’s just how we look,” she assured him.

“That’s not to say you’re not making it work for you,” Tony added hastily. “But seriously, come to the party. Bring Jane. Have fun and make Pepper feel like a queen for a night.”

Darcy hesitated. This should have sounded like her idea of hell—a night with strangers, celebrating a woman she didn’t know, trying to blend in and mingle with people so far out of her league it was almost comical. She didn’t like Tony all that much and she knew Jane would be none the wiser if she declined for both of them. It all added up to a perfectly polite, _No thank you._

“Sure,” she said aloud, surprising herself and Tony, from the looks of it. “Sounds fun.”

He brightened considerably. “Great,” he said and downed the rest of his mug in a single gulp. “I’ll send you the details.”

Jane watched as Tony hustled Bruce toward the door not long after, telling them both he’d be in touch before the end of the day. She crossed her thin arms over her chest and tilted her head to one side with a thoughtful frown. “You didn’t have to say yes, you know,” she reminded Darcy once they’d gone.

“I know,” Darcy assured her. “But it sounds like it might be fun.”

She didn’t mention the nagging feeling she couldn’t put a finger on. The one that told her she _did_ have to say yes. That this was something she couldn’t miss.

 

***

 

Despite the anxiety that had churned up her stomach since Tony had extended the initial invitation, Darcy found she was having considerably more fun than she anticipated.

Her new boss had spared no expense in celebrating the woman he loved—he’d packed well over a hundred of Pepper’s biggest fans into the penthouse of a Park Avenue hotel, flown her favorite band in from Spain, and kept the drinks and appetizers flowing all night.

And the tipsier they got, the more fun Darcy had watching her new co-workers. She’d parked herself on a barstool to await a glass of ice cubes, watching with amusement as the mixture of drink, music, and superpowers started to shift the party in a different direction.

She’d just watched Clint Barton take an unintentional elbow to the face from one of the younger SHIELD agents during an ill-advised dance-off. She couldn’t help but snort back a laugh while she watched him try to assess whether or not his nose was bleeding. “Jesus, someone should get him a towel,” she muttered, wondering if that someone was going to have to be her.

“Sorry?” The man next to her—only a broad shoulder in a black suit a moment before—turned to her, looking confused. “Oh, hey,” realization dawned on his features. “I remember you.”

Darcy grinned. “Likewise, Steve,” she said, using his name as proof.

Not like there was any chance she would have forgotten it.

She caught the quick once over he gave her—a strong upgrade from the first time they’d met. “You look…uh—” he stumbled so early into the compliment, Darcy couldn’t help but feel bad for him. “I like your…” he motioned to her clothes and looked apologetic again. “I don’t know what you call that,” he admitted. “Is it a jumpsuit?”

Darcy smiled again and looked down at the plunging neckline of the one-piece black ensemble she’d bought a year ago and never worn. “This?” she shrugged. “Yeah, I’d call it a jumpsuit.” She circled a finger in his direction. “I like your suit,” she said honestly of his black suit and tie that he’d paired with a crisp white shirt. “You look like a fed.”

To her surprise, Steve chuckled and shook his head. “Is that a compliment?”

She shrugged again. “I could’ve said you look like a Mormon.”

He looked surprised. “Do I?”

Darcy help up two fingers and indicated an inch. “But in a cool way,” she assured him, happy when he laughed again. “So, how come you’re not out on the dance floor risking life and limb with your team?” Darcy asked and spun on her stool to lean her bare back against the bar.

Steve swirled the tumbler of amber liquid in his hand, knocking the ice cubes together. “Not much of a dancer,” he admitted.

She nodded and studied his profile from the corner of her eye before she glanced back at Clint, whose nose was definitely bleeding by this point. She winced. “Yikes. He better be careful,” she commented mildly.

Steve glanced over his shoulder and shrugged. “It’s just a nosebleed,” he declared, watching as Clint tipped his head back and accepted a towel from Natasha. “It’s nothing.”

“Tell that to Attila the Hun,” Darcy said, gratefully accepting the glass of ice that appeared on the bar for her. She’d crunched into a satisfying ice cube when she felt Steve’s look of confusion turn her way. “He died from a nosebleed,” she said around a mouthful of crushed ice.

His brow furrowed. “I thought his wife killed him?”

She shook her head. “That was propaganda used to perpetuate 5th century misogyny,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. “To make Attila seem like he suffered the ultimate betrayal and reinforce the idea that women couldn’t be trusted.”

Steve didn’t look convinced. “I don’t think misogyny was that big of an issue in the 5th century.”

It was her turn to frown. “So, you don’t think a world where women were property to be sorted as either whores or brood sows and unable to make their own decisions in any aspect of their life was an issue?”

She didn’t know why she was doing this. She had nothing to gain from this argument, but the chance to show off some of her education was always too tempting to pass up. Though it didn’t seem to be winning her any popularity contests, judging by the way Steve was staring at her.

“No, of course not,” he said patiently. “I just mean that in a society like what existed in 400 A.D., women wouldn’t have been considered at all because they _were_ considered property. Creating a propaganda campaign to make people distrust women would be like,” he floundered for a second, “I don’t know, like creating a campaign to make people distrust chairs or washing machines and did you really just say ‘brood sows’?”

Darcy blinked. “I did,” she affirmed. “We can talk about something else.”

Steve shook his head as if clearing away a thought. “No, it’s fine,” he said. “This is…” he smirked. “This is actually one of the most interesting conversations I’ve had at one of these things. It’s just surprising.”

“You mean most people don’t want to argue about Iron Age social issues at Stark parties?”

“No, I mean,” Steve looked flustered again. “When I saw you, I didn’t think…” he stopped himself. “I mean, I figured you were—”

Darcy watched him struggle with the decision to voice his thoughts. Amused, she glanced down at her cleavage and shrugged. “I get it,” she assured him. “You thought I was easy.”

“Easier than this,” he muttered, almost under his breath before he caught himself and coughed. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “That probably sounded—”

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “People have thought a lot worse things about me.”

“I don’t—” Steve stopped and shook his head. “I don’t think you’re easy,” he said finally. “I’m sure you’re—”

Darcy laughed, half out of sympathy and placed a hand on his arm. “How about I save us both the horror of however you were planning on ending that sentence and just let you off the hook?”

He blew out a frustrated breath. “Yeah,” he said, more into his drink than to her. “That’s probably for the best.”

She slid off her bar stool. “Anyway, I’m a little tired of the party vibes,” she admitted. “I think I need a change of scenery.”

Three lines of concern folded across Steve’s forehead. “You’re not…” he frowned. “You’re not leaving because of me, are you?”

She smiled and shook her head. “No, I’m leaving because it’s two o’clock in the morning and I really want some pancakes,” she admitted before she bit her lip and dared herself to finish her thought. “You’re welcome to join me.”

 

New York City had no shortage of all-night diners where two overdressed people could stuff their faces with coffee and pancakes without much of a fuss. They picked one only a few blocks from the tower with unlimited hot drink refills and—according to the sign—the best banana pancakes in the borough.

“You don’t look convinced,” Steve commented as Darcy chewed thoughtfully, considering the flavors.

“They’re good,” she decided after a thick swallow. “But I can’t say they’re the best in the borough.”

He raised his eyebrows. “And why is that?”

She shrugged. “Well, I haven’t tried any other Manhattan banana pancakes so to agree with their assessment would be totally unfair.”

Steve smiled. “I see your point,” he said before he speared three fluffy slices of blueberry cake onto his fork and took a huge bite.

“But the blueberry seems to be a hit,” Darcy commented with a grin as she reached across the table and speared a piece for herself. “Is this cool?” she asked, realizing it was a pretty familiar move to pull on someone she’d only just met. But he nodded and motioned for her to help herself. She did and squished a fat, roasted blueberry between her teeth before she reached for her coffee. “Man,” she commented, sliding out of her heels and tucking her feet up on the booth beneath her. “Why are pancakes so much better when you’re supposed to be sleeping?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said, pouring himself another black coffee from the pot the waitress had left on the table. “But this is such a better way to end the night than I was planning.”

Darcy swiped at a stray dollop of syrup on the edge of her plate and sucked it from her thumb. She studied her companion carefully, wondering what it was exactly that she was finding so intriguing.

“You didn’t really seem like you were having the best time,” she admitted.

Steve look flustered again and studied his half-eaten food a little too intensely before he shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, pushing a bite of pancake through the blueberry compote. “I kind of always feel like I’m too early or too late to any kind of party.” He glanced up through long, dark eyelashes and Darcy felt her throat constrict inconveniently. “I’m usually just waiting until it feels like I’ve been there long enough that I can leave without anyone getting upset.”

Putting her rush of attraction aside, Darcy smiled sympathetically. “I’m not a big fan of crowds,” she confessed. “I’d much rather do a dinner party or a movie night or something than a big deal like what Tony just did for Pepper.”

Steve looked surprised. “You seemed like you were having a pretty good time.”

She looked up from the pancakes she was about to shove into her mouth. “Did I?” she asked, tilting her head to one side.

A quick flush colored Steve’s ears pink and he glanced down again. “I mean, from just a casual observation…”

“No,” she shook her head and bit back the urge to clarify if Steve had just admitted to checking her out. “No, it was fun but,” she shrugged again and glanced around the nearly-deserted diner. “This is really more my speed.”

Steve’s blush had receded when he looked back up and shot her another smile that made her stomach flip. “Mine too.”

 

It was half-past four by the time they neared the tower. She told herself that Steve wasn’t intentionally slowing his strides to drag out their time together—that he was just walking more slowly because he could tell her feet were hurting from her heels. She added another mental note that he most certainly _didn’t_ look regretful when she handed back the suit jacket that he’d volunteered at her first shiver back in the diner. He was tired, she told herself. That’s all.

He stopped as they reached the door and looked confused. “Wait—do you…” he motioned to the residential elevators just inside the door.

“Oh,” she shook her head. “Not usually. I’m just crashing on Jane’s couch tonight because I don’t feel like hauling it all the way back to Brooklyn.”

His expression lifted with interest. “You live in Brooklyn?”

“Temporarily,” she said with a wide-mouthed yawn she didn’t bother to cover. “My aunt Beth’s in Germany for the next ten months. I’m house-sitting until she gets back.”

“What happens after that?’ he asked, more curious than concerned.

She shrugged. “Either I find a few roommates or a better paying job or I’m on the train back to Syracuse.”

He winced. “So, no pressure.”

She grinned. “None at all.” They went inside together and swiped their cards for the elevator. Darcy had to juggle hers from the one that would only take her to the approved work floors and the one that would stop at Jane’s floor.

 _Welcome home, Captain Rogers,_ JARVIS greeted cheerfully as the elevator doors closed silently. _And welcome to Stark Tower, Jane Foster’s House Guest._

Darcy rolled her eyes. “She promised she was going to get me on a first name basis with all the bots in this place,” she muttered.  To her surprise, Steve got off the elevator when she did. “Oh,” she laughed nervously. “You don’t have to walk to me to the door or anything,” she promised. “It’s…super safe.”

“I know,” he said quickly and glanced down at his shoes. “I just…wanted to…say thanks,” he finished with a little shrug of his shoulders before he looked up again. “This was…fun.” He nodded at his own assessment. “Really fun, actually.”

“Yeah,” Darcy smiled. “It was. I’m glad you decided to come with me.”

“If you ever want to try out some of the other banana pancakes around the city…”

“Oh, you’re the only one I’m calling,” she assured him. “Don’t worry.”

Steve’s smile was sweet and almost shy as he took a step backward toward the elevator. “Have a good night, Darcy.”

She nodded toward the eastern facing window at the end of the hallway where the sun was just starting to soften the sky to a lighter blue. “Have a good _morning_ , Steve.”

He didn’t have to, but he waited until she made it inside Jane’s door. Darcy turned the locks and leaned against the wall to kick out of her heels with a happy sigh.

Good morning, indeed.

 

***

 

“Okay,” Darcy put her burger down and clasped her hands in front of her. “I have an old-timey question.”

Steve finished crunching a french fry and smiled. “Hit me.”

“It’s kind of a two-parter,” she warned.                       

“I can handle it.”

“Okay,” she cleared her throat. “Why do people act super scandalized whenever you swear or do anything that makes you seem like a regular human being? And what’s with the notion that people didn’t party in the good old days and that no one ever said anything harsher than ‘oh dear’ when they were pissed off?”

By the beginning of November, Steve had become one of her favorite people in New York. He didn’t sleep much, she’d learned, and more often than not, he was awake when she was clocking out of the labs after one of Jane’s science benders. His offer to accompany her on her quest to find the best late-night food in the city had not been a joke and he’d been sitting across from her at a different dive at least twice a week for over a month.

That day, however, they were eating lunch at a more traditional time, having spent the morning commiserating over paperwork in Jane’s lab.

“Excellent old-timey question,” he declared, his eyes lighting up at the chance to impart some first-hand knowledge. “Mostly it comes down to the censorship guidelines and what was allowed to be broadcast on the wireless and in the pictures. I mean, especially in the Army,” he shook his head with a smile.  “Christ, the word ‘fuck’ was used like punctuation.”

Darcy snorted into her milkshake. “Now see, _those_ are the kind of newsreels I could get behind.”

“Unfortunately,” Steve continued, still grinning, “the news got in bed with Hollywood to glamorize the war effort and had to be subjected to the Hays Code so anytime we were being recorded, everyone had to be on their best behavior.”

“Lame,” Darcy muttered.

“Super lame,” he agreed. “Absolutely no,” he coughed, “what they referred to as ‘deviant language’ over any kind of communication.”

Darcy felt her eyebrows lift with interest. “Deviant language?” she repeated. “What, was there a list?”

“There sure was,” Steve said. “Very specific. We had to memorize it.”

Darcy’s eyes were dancing as she prodded him further. “What was on it?”

He opened his mouth and closed it again. “I don’t really…”

She nudged his knee with her foot under the table. “You _absolutely_ do remember, you, big fat liar. Don’t even play that with me.”

“There were—” he stopped himself. “I mean, there were more than four, obviously, but everyone’s favorites were, uh—” he coughed again. “Fuck, shit, pussy and blowjob.”

Darcy’s face split into a wide, bright smile. “All the classics!” she exclaimed.

Steve laughed. “It was a hundred push-ups for each slip,” he said and reached for his own milkshake. “And our COs were supposed to get fined too, I think.”

“Even for blowjob?” she asked, not caring about the raised eyebrow she received from one of the waitresses as she walked past. “Blowjob is so harmless!”

“I know,” he shook his head. “Good, clean fun. Anyway,” his shoulders rolled in a shrug. “That’s where that comes from.”

Darcy reached across the table and stole one of his fries to dip into her chocolate shake. “The things ya learn,” she commented.

Steve cleared his throat. “Speaking of things to learn,” he said, resituating himself in the booth to lean back from the table. “I feel like I don’t know that much about you.”

She scoffed. “Not true at _all,”_ she countered. “You’ve frequently seen me without make-up, you’re well aware of my distaste for improv comedy and we’ve eaten grilled cheese and pancakes together many times. You know all the important stuff,” she promised. “Trust me.”

Steve shook his head again. “Come on,” he whined lightly. “What’s your family like?”

She blinked in surprise and felt the need to shove more food in her face to detract from the unimpressive answers he was looking for. “Small,” she answered honestly after some consideration. “My mom died of congestive heart failure when I was twenty,” she said, getting the worst of it out of the way in one breath. “And my dad is a charming, recovering alcoholic, paleontologist who is fluent in three dead languages but doesn’t know how to check his voicemail.” She offered a brief smile before plowing ahead. “My aunt—the one whose apartment I’m crashing in—is my dad’s twin and their parents are dead and my mom’s family cut her off when she married my dad, so I’ve never met any of them.”

“Why?” he asked, sounding genuinely interested.

“Because he’s Jewish,” she said simply. “They were—or, _are,_ I guess—super Christian and couldn’t deal with their daughter marrying outside the church so.” She blew a whistle through her lips and mimed cutting the air with her fingers. “Which was all for nothing anyway,” she continued. “Because I’m pretty sure I’ve been to temple like, six times in my entire life and it’s not like my mom converted or anything.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “Wow.”

She shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“I’m sorry about your mom,” he said finally.

She gave him another quick smile—one she hoped wouldn’t reveal the way every part of her cringed anytime someone said those words. “Thanks,” she said briefly. “It’s fine. I mean—” she rushed ahead to correct herself. “It’s not fine, obviously. She was only forty-five when she died but I mean.” Darcy shook her head. “Anyway. Small family,” she reiterated. “Not that exciting.”

He returned her smile with one of his own—a sadder one that assured her he wished he hadn’t asked. And made her wish she had a happier answer to such a basic question.

“So, I guess you’re going home for Thanksgiving, then?”

She looked up from her plate in surprise. That had not been the follow-up question she’d been expecting. “Uh, no,” she admitted. “Not for the last couple of years. Cornell usually sends Dad on a dig with his students and Aunt Beth travels around all the time, so I usually just do something with Jane and Erik and…” she shrugged. “Well, I guess Thor was there last year. And some of the other lab techs.” She brightened before she asked, “What about you? Is there some big Avengers Friendsgiving dinner where Tony walks around cooking turkeys with lasers and Clint wears a ‘Kiss-the-Cook’ apron?”

“Uh, not that I’m aware of,” he said with a soft laugh. “I haven’t…” he frowned. “I mean, if they had something going on last year, I didn’t go.”

It was her turn to frown. “Well that sucks,” she stated. “What did you do instead?” she asked, hoping it wasn’t anything that involved eating alone or wandering the city by himself.

“There’s a vets shelter in Queens. Borden Avenue?” Steve looked back up, checking for recognition. When Darcy shrugged, he continued. “They do a big Thanksgiving meal every year and since I’ve been—back,” he stumbled over the word. “Anyway, they do a lot of good stuff—provide short-term housing and reintegration help and some counseling,” he shrugged. “I’ve been trying to help out there as much as I can. So, last year I went and served turkey and mashed potatoes in the morning and then my friend, Izzy had a big traditional meal at night.”

The hot coal of jealousy that dropped into Darcy’s stomach at the idea of Steve spending Thanksgiving with a woman named Izzy and her family was so inconvenient and unwarranted that she felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment that she hoped he didn’t notice. Quickly, and without her permission, her mind ticked through the possibilities—someone from SHIELD? One of the agents? Someone Natasha had set him up with? Or maybe someone he’d met at the shelter? Someone with a big heart and a big smile who was entirely undeserving of this resentment from a total stranger. She took a sip of her milkshake and willed skin back to its usual shade and said, “That sounds like a pretty great day.”

He nodded, oblivious to her tempest of emotions and looked down at his empty plate again. “It was,” he admitted. “I was…uh,” he cleared his throat. “Izzy told me to bring someone,” he said, so quickly Darcy almost missed it. “If you don’t have—I mean, if you want, of course. If you and Jane have plans—”

She furrowed her brow. “Wait. Are you asking me to go with you to Izzy’s Thanksgiving thing?” The invitation didn’t quite fit with the image of the woman who’d just popped into her head.

Steve reddened. “I just thought—y’know, if you wanted to do something…different this year.”

She smothered back a smile and mentally took back everything she’d just unfairly thought about Izzy, whoever she was. “I…don’t think I have plans,” she said, remember that she and Jane hadn’t talked about holidays at all this year. “And your Thanksgiving sounds way less depressing than mine. Can I come help out at the shelter too?”

The memory of the smile that came over Steve’s face was enough to keep her warm for the rest of the month.

***

An unusual bout of nerves caught up to Darcy as she climbed out of the cab behind Steve, clutching a casserole dish of whipped sweet potatoes. He shut the door behind her and led the way up the short walkway to a modest, two-story house with faded green aluminum siding and an American flag in a stand on the concrete porch. They climbed the stairs together; Darcy’s stomach did an impressive series of somersaults while Steve rang the doorbell and they listened to it chime over the din of the people inside.

He’d told her almost nothing about the people she’d be having dinner with. Not entirely his fault, she conceded. The Strike Team was called away on two separate missions and she was buried in her work until only the day before yesterday when she asked if she could bring anything to contribute to the meal.

 _Yams_ , Steve had texted in response to her question from somewhere in the Pacific. _Izzy said you can bring yams if you want. But you don’t have to._

So that was all she knew about Izzy. She and her family lived in this little house in Queens and she apparently liked yams with her Thanksgiving dinner. Briefly Darcy wondered, as she heard someone yelling inside to get the door, if Steve had told the people inside this house anything about her. Other than she could, in fact, bring the yams.

The front door swung open and Darcy was greeted to sight of the most adorable old man she’d ever seen. He was a little shorter than Steve, with a full head of silver hair and a face full of prominent features. He wore a pair of black-rimmed coke-bottle glasses that magnified his crystal blue eyes and made him look, Darcy thought, a little bit like a Pixar character. His face split into a wide smile as he pulled the door open all the way and threw up both of his hands. “Rogers, you old sonofabitch!” he exclaimed, pushing open the screen door to welcome them inside.

“Happy Thanksgiving to you too, Iz,” Steve chuckled, suddenly more at ease than Darcy had ever seen him. She watched the two men hug before the older of the two noticed her over Steve’s shoulder and pulled away to straighten back to full height.

“And you must be Darcy,” he said with a charming smile that—had he been sixty years younger—probably would have made her blush. He reached out and clasped her free hand in both of his. His skin was soft, his hands as warm as his smile. “Isadore Cohen,” he introduced himself. “I’m so glad you’re both here.”

Darcy blinked in surprise. “Isadore,” she repeated slowly, the realization clicking into place. Isadore Cohen. One of the few surviving Howling Commandos.

“You can call me Izzy, sweetheart,” he said quickly, not missing a beat. “Everybody does. Come in, come in,” he waved them inside the foyer where Darcy was greeted with a rush of rich, savory smells. Brown sugar and sharp thyme and rosemary mingled with the mellow hints of onions and carrots. She felt her mouth water as they shrugged out of their coats and Izzy dispatched a younger Cohen to run them upstairs. “Oh, good,” he noticed the casserole in her hand. “You brought the sweet potatoes.”

“Sure did,” Darcy said with a grin as they made their way past the living room. A group of teenagers and two men her father’s age were clumped on the sofa, the armchair, and the floor, watching a football game. They turned around and greeted Steve with familiar smiles and waves and offered the same to Darcy before returning their attention to the television.

“Miriam, my sweet,” Izzy called as he led them to the kitchen. “Steven has arrived,” he led them into a warm and inviting yellow kitchen with chipped Formica countertops and four women who appeared to be in their sixties and one in her late thirties, assembling a massive array of food under the supervision of a tiny, wizened matriarch with a cap of white curls, bright brown eyes, and an apron embroidered with the words _Bubbe Loves_ surrounded by the names of all of her grandchildren. “He’s brought us yams and a lady friend.” Miriam turned from where she was leaning against her countertop and aimed a bright smile in their direction. Darcy felt her heart melt just little bit more as Steve crossed the room in two quick strides and closed her in a gentle hug.

She pulled away and held him at arms’ length, reaching a hand up to his chin. “How do you still look so good?” she asked in a small voice the crackled with delight.

“I was going to ask you the same question,” Steve replied, and Darcy was certain she caught a blush on the old woman’s cheeks.

She gave his arm a playful smack and shook her head. “Did I hear something about a lady friend?”

Steve stepped back and held an arm out to welcome Darcy to join them across the room. “Darcy Lewis, this is Miriam Cohen, Izzy’s better half.”

Miriam surprised her with a tight hug and patted her cheek. “You are just lovely,” she said, and Darcy felt a rush of nostalgia for her own grandmother who had died when she was ten, and who’d always smelled like violets and baby powder. “I’m so glad he brought you along.”

Dinner was better than she could have expected. The whole family of Izzy and Miriam’s children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren scattered throughout the house, eating off tv tables from the seventies, the mothers getting up every few minutes to grab something from the kitchen, Izzy offering refills of smooth red wine every so often. Darcy had to refuse after the second glass when she noticed her head starting to get fuzzy. She found herself entranced by the conversation between Steve and Izzy—their easy back-and-forth, their lighthearted teasing, the off-handed references to things she’d only glimpsed in a history book. She wanted to savor it—bottle it for a rainy day.

They were politely curious about Darcy and asked her plenty of questions—none of which, she was grateful, had anything to do with the status of her relationship with Steve. One of the Cohen grandchildren had taken one of her father’s classes when he was teaching at Syracuse. The daughter who most closely resembled Miriam worked closely with the auction house where her aunt was employed.

After dinner, there was pumpkin pie, pecan pie, and incredibly strong coffee that Darcy knew would keep her up all night. She dropped onto the couch beside Steve, pie in hand, and had to remind herself not to instinctively curl up next to him. It would have been easy enough, she knew, with his arm draped comfortably over the back of the couch, an open invitation for a cuddle if ever she saw one.

But Darcy didn’t think they were up to cuddling yet.

She didn’t really know _what_ they were up to yet. Only that she liked it. And she wanted more of it.

If he noticed her waffling about her position on the couch, Steve didn’t let on with the smile he sent her way when passed her a cup of coffee, already mixed with cream and sugar. He didn’t move his arm but shifted so Darcy could sit more comfortably beside him. Darcy watched with amusement as Izzy clandestinely slipped twenty-dollar bills to each member of the younger generations before herding them toward the game room in the basement.

“I hope you’re not out here handing out money,” Miriam chastised as she shuffled in on the arm of one of her sons. He deposited her gently in one of the faded plaid armchairs across from her husband.

Isadore waved a hand in her direction. “A man’s finances are his own game, Miriam.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Miriam admonished. “Your finances haven’t been your own game since 1949.”

Steve snorted a laugh into his coffee and Darcy had to smother back a smile when Izzy turned his attention to them with a grin. “It’s hard to keep secrets in this house,” he informed them. “Especially from a woman who’s been opening my mail for the last sixty years—which,” he spun back around in the chair to point a finger at his wife, “is a federal offence!”

She rolled her eyes and accepted a plate with a small slice of pecan pie. “A birthday card from your sister, Isadore,” she reminded. “It’s hardly grounds for an investigation.”

Darcy laughed while they continued their sweet, good-natured bickering, but she couldn’t help but notice the way Steve looked at them. A kind of wistful amusement. The kind of look that made her wonder if he was imagining what his life should have looked like. The kind of look that twisted her heart and made her wish he’d gotten the chance to have all of this: the house, the babies, the wife to trade one-liners with.

She shifted again on the couch and leaned against him. His arm fell around her shoulders in an instant and Darcy was enveloped in the smell of his clean laundry soap and the coffee still in his hand. She felt him looking down at her and tilted her head to look up, pleased to see that he was smiling again. The kind of smile that told her he was back in the present.

And back with her.

 

Their breath clouded around them as they walked the few blocks back to Darcy’s apartment. They’d left the cab early at Darcy’s request to enjoy some of the Christmas lights already on display. In truth, she just wasn’t ready for the night to be over. But she wasn’t ready to invite him up, either. Most of the time they’d spent together had been in restaurants or at work. She wasn’t even sure what state her apartment was in and a walk through the lights felt like a safe alternative to wondering if she’d left dirty clothes lying around or dishes in the sink that had been there for _way_ too long.

He’d been telling her stories about Izzy, Dugan, Trip, and the rest of the Commandos—the Howlies, he called them affectionately—while they walked beneath twinkling white and rainbow-colored lights. Darcy had never seen him so at ease—the stories flowed naturally and without his usual shy, stumbling. She felt a pang of disappointment when she realized they’d reached the stoop of her building.

“Well,” she said, digging for her keys before she sighed. “I guess I should say goodnight and let you get home.”

He nodded. “Sorry I kept you out so late,” he said with a smile as he checked his watch. “Do you have to work tomorrow?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m off until Tuesday. I’m probably going to eat a discounted pumpkin pie and do all my Christmas shopping online in between Charlie Brown specials.”

Steve laughed. “That sounds like a pretty solid weekend.”

She grinned. “It’s never steered me wrong before.”

His hands went into the pockets of his leather jacket and he let out another breath. “Thanks for coming with me tonight,” he said, just before the silence crossed the threshold into awkward.

“It was a genuine pleasure,” she assured him. “Izzy’s family is wonderful. It felt so…” she paused, wondering if the word that was coming to mind was the right one.

“Normal,” Steve finished for her, softly.

“Yeah,” she agreed with a nod. “Normal.”

A charged moment passed between them where Steve’s eyes darted to her lips for the briefest of seconds and where it would have only been too easy to reach out and tug on his jacket and beckon him inside with a tilt of her head. But Darcy watched the moment vanish as Steve’s throat bobbed with a hard swallow and he ran a hand through his blonde hair. “It’s pretty cold,” he reminded them both needlessly with a nod toward her door. “You’d better get inside.”

Darcy glanced down at her boots and summoned all the courage she had. “Steve?” she asked, looking up again.

He glanced up too. “Yeah?”

“I…” she floundered for a second before she forced herself to go on. “I really like you,” she admitted. “Like, more-than-a-friend like you.”

He blinked in surprise. “You do?”

She nodded. “Hanging out with you is the most fun and most normal thing that I get to do in my decidedly _un_ normal job and life and I just…” she shrugged. “Probably screwed everything up, but I wanted to tell you because it’s…” her words failed her again and her lips blew a soft raspberry. “I don’t know. It’s Thanksgiving and it feels like the kind of night where you’re supposed to tell the truth.”

Her confession was met with silence. Too long of a silence. Darcy felt her heart sink and mentally added a large bottle of liquor to her grocery list for tomorrow morning before she forced herself to clear her throat and attempt a cheery smile.

“Okay then,” she said in an unbelievably cheerful tone. “I’m gonna go—”

She didn’t get to finish her backtrack because Steve had taken her gently by the waist with one hand and sank the other into her hair and pressed his lips to hers. She hummed in surprise for only a second before she stretched up on her toes and leaned into his kiss, letting herself get lost in the soft, insistent pressure of his lips, the smell of his skin, the lock of blonde hair that fell forward to tickle her cheek.

Darcy’s eyes fluttered open slowly when he pulled away and she blinked the world back into focus. Her skin was humming, her blood rushing with an excitement she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. “You could join me,” she breathed with a smile. “For pie and Charlie Brown?”

Steve’s smile was soft and a different kind of shy as he reluctantly let go of her waist and let his thumb brush against her cheekbone. “I should probably go home,” he admitted. “But I didn’t want you to think that I—”

“Oh no,” she shook her head, her nose brushing against his just before he pulled away. “This doesn’t feel like a rejection.”

“It really isn’t one,” he promised and bent to kiss her one more time.

 

Miraculously, Darcy waited until she was all the way into her own apartment before she squealed with delight and let herself process what had just happened.

He’d kissed her.

Steve had kissed her. Twice.

After two long, agonizing months of telling herself over and over that he couldn’t possibly be interested in her. That he was just looking for a friend and she shouldn’t read anything more into their interaction, he had kissed her.

And more than that, she realized as she toed out of her boots and danced herself back toward the bathroom, he’d shared a big, personal part of his life with her. He’d let her meet one of his only surviving friends and taken her to the shelter where he felt most at home.

“Quite the day you’ve had,” a voice said from the bedroom and stopped her in her tracks.

Darcy felt the blood drain from her face, an unfamiliar weight of ice dropped into her stomach as Loki stood from his seat on the edge of her bed and raised his eyebrows.

“What are you doing here?” she asked before she could stop herself. Wondering why she felt so cold. So guilty to have found him waiting for her.

He smiled. “It’s good to see you too,” he commented. “I was concerned you might be alone on a holiday,” he said, crossing his arms over his slim chest. “Thought I’d pop in for a visit.”

She tried to make herself relax. She was being ridiculous, of course. This was _Loki,_ her mind told her. She had no reason to be anxious around him. “Of course, it’s good to see you,” she said after a moment. Her breath left her in a laugh that felt a little too nervous to be convincing. “Sorry, you just surprised me.”

“Maybe I should call next time,” he said mildly. He stayed where he was while she continued on to the bathroom and started taking off her makeup.

“Don’t be stupid,” she rolled her eyes. “What would you call me on?” she popped her head back out of the bathroom with a grin. “A space phone? Think of the long-distance charges.”

She was pleased when she caught the hint of a smile on his lips. “I’d figure something out,” he assured her before he cleared his throat and grew serious again. “Actually, I’ve come for another reason as well, beyond attempting to keep you company.”

Darcy swiped a cotton ball over her eyelids and sighed internally. “What’s up?” she made herself ask. Even though in that moment, for the first time, she really didn’t care. She wanted to hold onto the feeling of excitement that had bubbled up inside of her like champagne when Steve’s lips had touched hers. She wanted to throw herself backward on her bed and kick her feet in the air like a teenager and fall asleep thinking about what was going to come next through a lens of pink, hopeful optimism.

“I’ve come for a status report,” he said, sounding more like a boss than a friend.

Darcy frowned at her reflection in the mirror. “I haven’t heard anything out of the ordinary from Jane or Erik about any kind of anomalies or…” she shrugged. “Really _anything_ that sounds like it might have end-of-the-world potential.” She tossed her cotton into the trash and came back to the bedroom to turn on more lights.

“What are you looking for?” he asked a little more sarcastic than she was used to. “A gong to go off? Four horsemen to ride up?”

“I’m doing the best I can,” she reminded tightly. “On exceptionally little information.”

“I told you all that I can.”

“So did I,” she fired back, hating that it felt like they were fighting. She didn’t want to fight with him—she wanted to tell him what had just happened, and she wanted him to be happy for her. But she could tell, by the chill in his greeting, that somehow, he already knew what had just happened and he wasn’t happy at all.

“You might have a bit more information if you actually did what I asked instead of following your new boyfriend around like a doe-eyed school girl.”

Her head recoiled in surprise. He’d never spoken harshly like that to her before. Not in almost twenty years. “What are you, jealous?” she asked with a scoff of disbelief.

He rolled his eyes. “Please don’t flatter yourself.”

She ignored the sting of that comment and pressed on, her anger building. “You’re the one who told me to get close to him and keep an eye on everything they’re doing. I’m doing my best.”

“If this is your best then I’ve seriously misjudged you,” Loki said coldly.

“You know, your little save-the-world mission aside, you can’t blame me for wanting friends and people in my life,” she continued. “I need normal people; real people,” she reminded him. “Not—imaginary friends who wipe my memory when they leave and never age.”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve told you, I’m perfectly real and it’s not my fault you can’t remember me once I’ve left.” He gave her an almost dismissive wave. “I have no control over how your brain chooses to ingest our interactions.”

“Gosh, don’t you say the sweetest things,” she said dryly and crossed her arms over her chest. She heaved a sigh. “Look, I told you I would keep an eye out and I _will_ ,” she said emphatically before she summoned her courage for the second time that night. “But right now, I want you to leave. I want to forget about how angry I am with you and I just want you gone.”

If he was surprised, he kept it hidden. She wouldn’t blame him; she’d never once asked him to leave. Begged him to stay, begged him to take her with him, but never leave. His eyes softened. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said, sounding genuine.

“Well, you did,” she huffed, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest.

“I’m just concerned for you,” he continued, taking a tentative step closer. “I don’t want you to forget what I told you…” he paused. “About Steve. About all of them.”

When she looked up from the hole she’d been staring into the carpet, he was only a foot away. “I haven’t forgotten,” she insisted. “And I’m being careful.”

But that was a lie. Every minute she spent with Steve made her forget that he might be dangerous. Every joke they swapped or laugh they shared made it seem less and less likely that he was the key to any kind of destruction.

“Just remember I’m only trying to save this world from an untimely end,” he reminded, his voice still soft and apologetic. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you,” he reached out to push her hair away from her eyes. “My sweet, sweet friend.”

She pursed her lips and closed her eyes. She opened her mouth to respond. To apologize for losing her temper and tell him that all was forgiven between them. But when her eyes opened again, he was gone.

She was left with her stomach twisted in guilt, her nerves raw with anxiety, and no memory as to why.

 

***

The witch didn’t look remotely surprised to see him.

“Skuld knew you would be coming,” she said, sounding almost bored as she materialized before him.

His mind and blood rushing, Loki didn’t have time for her melancholy, measured tones. “I have concerns,” he said tightly, the words fighting their way out through a clenched jaw. “About the girl.”

“She’s still the key,” the witch assured him. “Verdandi has confirmed it.”

“She’s unreliable,” he argued.

“She’s human,” the witch all but scoffed. “It is the defining characteristic of their nature.”

He shook his head, undeterred by her apathy. “Send me back to Urd,” he demanded. “I need to spend more time with her.”

“No,” Völva said simply.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Urd has folded time for you once already,” she reminded. “She will not do it again. It is of no concern to her if you misspent the human’s youth.”

“I haven’t _misspent_ anything,” Loki insisted as his temper neared its frayed, explosive end. “She was eating out of the palm of my hand for twenty human years and now she’s—” He forced himself to stop and not alienate his ally. “Her mind is polluted,” he said calmly. “She’s _infected_ with lust for that _soldier_ ,” he spat out the word. “Pushing the two of them together was not the right move.” He looked up into her silver eyes imploringly. “Send me back,” he asked softly. “Let me fix this before it gets too far from my control.”

“I will not,” the witch promised coolly. “You still have time to amend your error but allowing you to tear at the threads of time any more than you already have would be catastrophic. I cannot allow it.”

His jaw tightened again. “And how do you suggest I amend this error when I’m at the whim of the winds of human emotion?”

She looked almost amused. “I’ve given you what you need, Laufeyson. I told you to feed the wolf the heart of a hero. I’m not in your employ and my fate remains the same no matter what you do. I _suggest,”_ she added with a strong emphasis on repeating his own words, “that you mind your tone when you speak to me and learn to clean up your own mess.”

And with a clap like canon fire, she disappeared from his view, leaving him alone, seething, at the howling, empty gap at the edge of the universe.

 

 


	5. December 2013

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pure fluff after a mildly difficult week because it's about to get dark and I just wanted to give you guys some sweet, fluffy lovins to fortify ourselves for the chapters ahead.
> 
> Gremlins and The Night Before Christmas are not mine. The story about Molly, however? That's a 100% MJ childhood memory. 
> 
> Enjoy, beebs!

 

_December 2013_

 

Darcy stretched as high as she could and looped the last part of the strand of white twinkle lights around the nail. “Power, please!” she said over her shoulder, delighted when Steve plugged in the long string of lights and a soft glow illuminated her whole living room.

“Nice,” Steve said, his voice coming from the doorway between the kitchen and living room. “But I probably could have reached the ceiling for you without you climbing all over the furniture.”

She smiled over her shoulder and carefully maneuvered herself to the edge of her aunt’s heavy, oak entertainment stand. “Probably,” she conceded, dropping her legs to dangle in front of the television. “Catch!” she called, a second before she shoved herself off the edge.

Steve was across the room a moment before she landed safely in his arms. He shook his head at the gleeful smile his heroics had earned him. “That trick is not funny,” he reminded, unable to keep his mouth in a straight line.

Darcy kicked her feet and kept her grin in place. “Yes, it is,” she assured him, enjoying the way his hair had fallen into his blue eyes when he’d rushed to catch her. She wiggled impatiently. “Okay, put me down.”

“I don’t think so,” Steve said, a devilish sparkle in his eye. He dropped his head and kissed her, making her feel like a princess in a Disney movie when he gathered her closer to his chest. She slid her fingers into his hair and deepened the kiss, disappointed when the timer in the kitchen let out a loud, distracting beep.

She made a sound of protest against his lips and pulled away. “Seriously,” she said with a laugh. “Put me down. I don’t want the cookies to burn.”

But Steve didn’t put her down. He carried her back with him into the kitchen and deposited her on the counter with a laugh before he turned off the timer and removed the tray of sugar cookies from the top rack. “What do you think?” he asked, glancing over for her approval.

Darcy considered golden edges of the cookies. They _could_ be a little browner, she admitted. But with her unreliable oven, even a few minutes could mean the difference between slightly underdone and burnt to a crisp. “They’re good,” she said with a bounce of her shoulders. “And I promise,” she said with a smile when he set the tray on the table to cool and turned back to her. “I will make real, Darcy Lewis-recipe cookies before it’s _really_ Christmas.”

Steve glanced back over his shoulder at the break-and-bake sugar cookies with little snowmen and pine trees stamped on them. “I like these ones,” he assured her. “You don’t have to bake any others if you don’t want to.”

She shook her head as he came to stand between her knees. “I want to,” she said. “I haven’t had a reason to get excited enough to break out the recipes for the last few years but,” she shrugged. “I’m just feeling lazy today.”

Steve pushed her hair behind her ear and grinned. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

She couldn’t fight him on that one. He’d brought her lunch as a surprise and had found her up to her knees in boxes of tinsel, lights, and snow globes. She’d enlisted his help as soon as their egg rolls were digested and had kept them both busy with decorating her small space all afternoon. Now, with the sun dipping behind the skyscrapers and a sleepy dusk settling over the city, Darcy was feeling accomplished and happy and hungry for kisses and cookies.

“What time is it?” she asked before she grabbed his wrist and checked his watch. Just after four. “Do you have anywhere you need to be?”

He shook his head. “Not unless there’s a callout.” He smiled again. “What else do you need me to do?”

“Yes,” she said, schooling her features to look serious. “It’s very important.”

Steve’s brow furrowed in concern. “What is it?”

“I need you,” she leaned in and kissed him quickly. “To sit on the couch,” their lips touched again. “And watch _Gremlins_ with me while we eat all these cookies.”

“ _Gremlins_?” he asked dubiously.

“It’s a holiday classic for the ages and you can’t judge it until you’ve seen it,” she countered, pointing a finger in his face.

He playfully swatted her hand down with a laugh. “Okay,” he agreed. “ _Gremlins_ and cookies it is.” He stepped back from the counter so she could hop down.

They piled the soft, warm cookies on a plate and Steve set them on the coffee table while Darcy rummaged for the copy of _Gremlins_ she knew she’d seen in her aunt’s collection. Once it was in the dvd player, she shut off the lamps and dropped down onto the couch next to Steve.

In the soft glow of the Christmas lights and with the soundtrack of a familiar film playing, Darcy snuggled into Steve’s side without a second thought. It didn’t feel like it was only a few weeks ago that she’d been nervous to lean into him at Izzy and Miriam’s house. In fact, from the moment Steve had taken her in his arms, Darcy had felt like she’d always belonged there. They’d slipped so easily from friendship to this sweet, innocent intimacy, that most days, Darcy had trouble remembering that it was still so new. She hadn’t even told anyone yet—not even Jane.

Steve’s arm fell across her back and she made a sound of contentment when she felt his fingers drawing slow, distracted circles over her shirt. She waited to see if he’d move his hand any lower, if he’d slip under her clothes and press his warm fingers to her skin, but he didn’t. She smiled and cuddled closer. Steve was—to her entangled delight and impatience—a perfect gentleman. If Darcy was the kind of girl who kept track of these things, she would have known they’d been together for a little under three weeks. Three weeks of holding hands, couch snuggling, and good night kisses that she felt all the way down to her toes. But that was it. He always went home, no matter how late it was. He was always the first to pull away from a kiss that went on too long; the first to say good night.

If it were any other guy, Darcy knew she might have started getting a complex. But she knew Steve well enough not to worry. The last thing she wanted to do was push for something he wasn’t ready for, she reminded herself on almost a nightly basis. And if she was honest, it had been a good, long time since she’d been with anyone who cared enough about her to want to take it slow.

She smiled again when she felt Steve dip his chin and press a kiss to the top of her head.

Yeah, she told herself as she reached for a cookie, there were worse things than taking it slow.

***

A large hand appeared in front of Darcy’s face as she finished her second glass of champagne. “Would you join me for a dance, Darcy?” Thor asked with a smile in his voice and holiday greenery braided into his long hair.

She grinned up at him and glanced across the room to where Jane was dropping into a chair to remove her shoes. “Did you check with my boss?” she asked around a laugh.

Thor glanced over his shoulder and shared a smile with Jane. “We have her blessing,” he assured her as the woman in question waved her hand toward them, shooing them toward the dance floor. “She needs a respite,” he continued as Darcy took his hand and let him lead her out onto the floor. “Between her work and the holiday festivities, I’m afraid she wears herself thin.”

Darcy smiled and rested a hand on his broad shoulder as the music switched to something by Frank Sinatra. “Don’t worry big guy,” she promised. “I won’t let her waste away. She’s safe with me.”

Thor’s smile was so warm and genuine that on anyone else, it would have looked ridiculous. “I have no worries when she’s with you, Darcy,” he said in that matter-of-fact way he had of stating simple, important things. “You carry your compassion like a shield,” he continued. “Anyone close to you is protected by it.”

Darcy blinked, struck by the unexpected weight of his compliment. It might have been the single nicest thing anyone had ever said to her. She sucked in a breath and squeezed his hand in thanks. He returned the squeeze and didn’t seem to mind when she cleared her throat and asked. “So what’s Christmas like on Asgard?”

He looked around them at the Stark Industries Christmas Eve-Eve party. The millions of twinkling lights, the six large evergreens decorated around the room (each one themed for a different Avenger, naturally), the food, the robots scurrying around delivering small presents to all of the guests like little elves, mistletoe in every doorway, Tony wandering through the throng of employees and friends in a tailored, satin Santa suit. “Not like this,” he decided after a moment.

Darcy followed his gaze and grinned. “Color me shocked.”

“Technically, we don’t celebrate Christmas on Asgard,” he added.

“Oh, right,” she checked herself. “Demigods not really into the whole Christianity thing, I guess.”

Thor laughed. “We do have a Yule festival, of course. There are gifts, trees—”

“Mead?”

“Of course,” he agreed with a hearty laugh. “And feasts for days and nights. Much merriment to mark the rebirth of Sol.”

“During the solstice, right?” Darcy guessed. “It’s about the sun goddess being reborn every winter, isn’t it?”

Thor looked impressed. “Very good,” he commented. “Have you been reading about Asgardian history and traditions?”

She opened her mouth and closed it again. “No,” she said slowly, honestly. “I…guess I’ve always been curious about it,” she admitted. “But I haven’t done too much research.”

Her dance partner grinned. “If you like, I can have some materials sent to you that you might find illuminating.”

“That’d be…” She trailed off. There was a twist in her stomach, a spike of something in the back of her mind that told her she’d said too much. That she didn’t actually _want_ to read whatever Thor thought she might like.

But that wasn’t true, she argued with herself gently. She _was_ curious about this god that had fallen out of the sky and changed her life. She would gladly read anything she could get her hands on that wasn’t told through the lens of fairytales or ancient Norse history textbooks. “That’d be great,” she finished her thought finally. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” Thor insisted. “Should I send them to your apartment?” he asked, before Darcy caught a twinkle in his eye. “Or would it be more convenient to have them sent to Steve’s?”

Darcy narrowed her eyes and lost a quick battle in keeping her expression neutral. “My apartment is fine,” she managed, unable to smother a guilty smile as her cheeks flushed pink. “Does everyone know?” she asked with a sigh.

“Certainly,” Thor said, before he laughed and softened. “Our captain’s solitary nature was a topic of great concern,” he lowered his voice, as if afraid of being overheard, even though Steve was all the way on the other side of the room. “It’s a relief to see that he’s put his heart in your hands. I’m not alone in my belief that you two are a very strong match.”

Still pink, she smiled. “Well don’t go picking out the china patterns just yet, big guy. I don’t want to jinx anything—it’s all very new.”

But Thor only smiled back. “Not when you have eyes as old as mine, my friend.”

 

 “Jesus H. Particular Christ,” Steve heard Darcy mutter under her breath as he returned to the living room. He set the bowl of popcorn on the table and looked up to see her sucking her index finger where her needle had drawn yet another bead of dark red blood.

She caught his gaze, his expression torn between amusement and concern. “You okay?” he asked, wondering if he should grab a box of Band-Aids before he sat down.

Darcy’s cheeks were pink as she pulled her finger from between her lips and nodded. “Considering regretting this whole ‘let’s string popcorn and cranberries for your Christmas tree’ idea,” she muttered.

He grinned and sat down on the opposite end of the deep, leather sofa. “Only considering?”

“So far,” she said and reached for another cranberry from the bowl. “Ask me again when I’m a pint low.”

Steve laughed and pointed to the strings of fluffy white kernels she’d already created to decorate the soft, stately pine that had been delivered, unbidden, to his door that morning. “I think it looks nice already,” he insisted. “We don’t have to do the cranberries.”

She shook her head stubbornly. “I’m in this, now,” she decreed. “You’re getting an old-school tree.”

“You know,” he commented as he reached for the pile of colorful newsprint strips he’d cut for a chain, “for a Jewish girl, you go pretty hard on Christmas.”

She successfully strung three berries in a row and looked up with a grin. “Hanukkah was over yesterday,” she reminded. “And the joy of being a mutt is that I can do whatever the hell I want in December.” She tilted her head to one side thoughtfully. “What did you do for Christmas when you were a kid?”

 _Tried not to die of pneumonia,_ he almost answered honestly. But with a fire in the fireplace and Bing Crosby playing on the stereo and Darcy in her flannel pajama pants and fuzzy socks sitting across from him, he didn’t want to dwell on the negative. “My mother and I would save as much as we could to buy a little turkey or ham for dinner,” he said, recalling the years they managed more than just enough, how rich he’d felt to be able to ask for and receive seconds of meat, carrots and boiled potatoes that broke easily under his fork. “We’d go to church for midnight mass, then we’d come home and if we had presents, we’d exchange them. And then, to test my memory, Ma would have me recite _The Night Before Christmas_ to her and we’d go to sleep .” He noticed the way Darcy’s lips had turned down in a brief frown when he’d said _if_ _we had presents_. “Holidays weren’t nearly as big of a deal as they are now,” he reminded. “It was just nice to have her home and have enough to eat.”

“Were oranges a big deal?” she asked, narrowing her eyes as if recalling a memory.

Steve laughed. “Oh yeah,” he reached for the glue stick and started connecting loops of newsprint to form a loose chain. “Biggest treat of the year would be an orange on Christmas morning.”

She smiled. “Our neighbor when I was growing up, Ruthie,” she said. “She didn’t have grandchildren, so my parents adopted her as like, another grandma for me. She quilted me a stocking when I was little and every year when she’d come over for Christmas dinner, she’d bring it full of presents and there was always an orange in the heel.”

“And you probably never appreciated it, did you?” he asked, shaking his head.

Darcy looked scandalized. “Of course I did!” she insisted. “I loved my Ruthie orange—but understandably, it wasn’t as big of a treat when it was the same thing we always had in the fridge.”

Steve clucked his tongue. “Kids these days…” He waited while she laughed before he countered. “Okay, tell me about Christmas when you were a kid. Hit me with a favorite memory.”

She took a deep breath and twisted her lips in thought. “Hmm…” she strung a few more cranberries before she perked up again. “Oh, okay, I’ve got one. Best Christmas was probably when I was about…seven years old? It was before we moved out of the city, so yeah, I think it was second grade. Anyway,” she shook her head of the extraneous details. “I had one of those American Girl dolls—do you know what I’m talking about?” She checked his blank expression. “These unnecessarily expensive dolls that were from different time periods and they all had different outfits and a whole series of books about them,” she noted that none of this was registering as familiar and continued. “Anyway, _huge_ for little girls in the nineties. And _my_ doll, Molly McIntire—you would have loved her, she was from 1942,” she added with a grin that he returned, “was loved _hard._ I took her _everywhere._ She was my best friend and as such, she was looking a little rough. Her leg was detached and one of her eyes didn’t blink right. Not a good look.

“ _So_ ,” she shook back a dark curl that had fallen into her eyes. “My mom told me we had to send her to the doll hospital for repairs.”

He felt his eyebrows lift. “The doll hospital?”

She nodded. “Yes. At the time, it was in Vermont, but now I think they’re at the big stores in all the major cities. Anyway, they said it’s a 12-16 week turnaround time for a doll repair, and we had to send her in October. So, I was _devastated_ because I wouldn’t have my best friend around for Christmas. And I begged my mom to call and check on her status starting in November and see what they could do to send her back early. But,” she sighed and dropped her shoulders. “No dice.”

Steve frowned. “Poor Darcy.”

“I was straight up the saddest little girl on Christmas morning,” she told him flatly. “Because my parents had, of course, bought me all these doll clothes and Molly books and furniture to play with her and I couldn’t enjoy any of it. But I wasn’t an asshole, so I pretended to be really excited about everything and smiled for all the photos and told them thank you. And as we’re cleaning up the wrapping paper, my dad went to open the patio door so he could have a cigarette and he was like, ‘Darcy, I think there’s something out here for you.’ So I go over and there’s this big, beautiful white box with a shiny red ribbon on it and a letter in a silver envelope with my name in this gorgeous, curly cursive writing.” She paused, her eyes sparkled as she savored the memory. “So I opened the letter which—I swear to God, smelled like cookies—and it was from Santa Claus. It said he knew how much Molly and I wanted to be together for Christmas, so he swung by the doll hospital on his way to New York and picked her up for me because I’d been such a good girl all year.”

Steve couldn’t help his smile as Darcy relived the magic her parents had created for her. “And it really was your doll?” he asked. “Not just a new one?”

She shook her head. “Nope. It was my Molly. My mom had stitched my initials on her back so that I could be sure. It was her,” she said happily. “And it was the best Christmas ever. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.”

“Now _that,”_ Steve said with certainty while he closed the final loop of his paper chain. “That is a perfect Christmas memory.”

Darcy looked up from her cranberries and offered a soft, almost shy smile. “So is this one,” she said quietly.

He was about to respond in kind when the kettle he’d set in the kitchen whistled and brought him back to his feet. When he returned with the cup of hot cocoa Darcy had politely requested earlier, she had finished her cranberry garland and was setting it gently amidst the boughs of the Christmas tree. He waited until she’d stopped to examine her work before he came up behind her and handed her the mug before he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back to rest against him.

She let out a little sound of contentment as she leaned her head back and he could hear her smile. “Worth the blood loss,” she said softly.

Steve took her free hand in his and pulled it back to gently kiss the tips of her fingers. Darcy twisted their fingers together and pulled his hand back to wrap around her waist. She molded against him easily, like they’d been made to fit together and Steve was struck once again by how _easy_ this was.

He’d forgotten—in all his years of awkward stumbling and heartache and dramatically missed opportunities—that relationships were supposed to feel good. That he could spend time with a woman without the world ending around them and just enjoy being together—that it could be _fun._ But being with Darcy had been fun from the beginning. Since the first time she’d aimed her bright smile in his direction, he’d felt something unclench in his chest. Something that told him it hadn’t been a cosmic mistake that had ended him here in this century.

She’d reminded him that he wasn’t just a science experiment or a soldier or a hero. She treated him like her friend—and now like her boyfriend—and Steve wasn’t sure he’d ever preferred a title more.

“Are you listening to me?” she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Steve blinked. “Uh, no,” he answered honestly with a laugh. “I zoned out for a second.”

Darcy giggled and took a sip from her cocoa. “I asked you when the last time was that you recited _The Night Before Christmas_ from memory?”

His mind went blank for a moment before the memory was called up faster than he would have expected possible. France. December 1943. Sleeping on the ground, piled up for warmth with the other Howling Commandos like a litter of puppies, taking turns softly singing Christmas carols and reciting nursery rhymes and simple poems to keep themselves awake. It had been Bucky’s watch that he’d noticed tick over to midnight and the siren sounded, declaring a Christmas truce on the battlefield and the first chance they’d had to sleep for three days.

 _Tell us a story, Stevie,_ Bucky had said with a smile and nudged him with his rifle. _Help us get some shut-eye while we can._

Out loud, back in his living room, he sighed. “A couple ‘a hundred bad guys ago. Not even sure I remember it all now.”

Darcy hummed, sounding sleepy, and swayed gently in his arms. “Tell it anyway,” she insisted, and let her long, red nails drift over his forearms.

He smiled and kissed the side of her head. “Are you demanding bedtime stories now?” he teased, walking them slowly backward toward the couch.

She nodded, following his lead. “I’ll trade you,” she offered. “You tell me a story tonight and I’ll make latkes with breakfast tomorrow.”

This Christmas Eve slumber party had been her idea. A camp out on his couch all night to watch all the cheesy holiday films they could stomach before getting up early enough to have breakfast before they went down to Borden Avenue to pass out gifts to the vets.

“Deal,” he agreed as the backs of his knees hit the couch and he sat down, bringing Darcy with him. She was an expert cuddler, he’d learned fairly early, and she shifted immediately to stuff herself between him and the back of the couch. She coaxed him to lay all the way down so she could rest her head on his chest and pull a blanket over them both.

She tapped her nails on his sternum. “T’was the night before Christmas…” she prompted with a smile in her voice. “I’ll help you out if you get stuck,” she added.

He sighed again and felt his eyelids start to get heavy. “Alright, alright,” he shuffled a little so his arms wrapped all the way around her. “T’was the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a—”

“Fennec fox,” Darcy put in quickly.

Steve smiled and decided to play along. “The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their bed, while visions of,” he paused and tapped her lightly on the arm.

“Uh, breakfast burritos?”

“—Danced in their head. And Ma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, had just settled down for a long winter’s—”

“Lap dance.”

He snorted and kept going. By the time the jolly old elf was filling stockings, Darcy’s mad-libs had named half the reindeer after historically liberal Supreme Court justices and dressed Santa as a Radio City Rockette who was smoking a little more than tobacco in his pipe. Her suggestions had gotten more ridiculous as she relaxed more and more against him, her breathing becoming slower and deeper as he finished the poem without interruption.

“But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, ‘Merry Christmas to all,” he paused and tipped his chin to press a kiss to the top of Darcy’s head. Her hair smelled like pine and the cherry wood from the fire they’d been feeding all evening.

“And to all a good night,” she murmured against his chest. He craned his head and saw her eyes already closed.

“And to all a good night,” he echoed softly. “Good night, Darcy,” he added and kissed her head again.

The smart system that Stark had wired through each of the apartments dimmed the lights and softened the music automatically so that the only light was coming from the fireplace. Steve pulled the blanket around them a little tighter, hoping his body heat would be enough to keep Darcy warm if she got cold in the middle of the night.

“Steve?”

Her voice pulled his eyes open with some effort and he held his breath. “Yeah?”

Darcy paused and he thought he felt her biting her lip, her cheek still resting on his chest. “This is my favorite Christmas Eve,” she said after a long, thoughtful moment.

Steve felt an unfamiliar sting behind his eyes that he stemmed by letting them fall closed. “Mine too,” he whispered, moments before she fell all the way asleep.

 

 

 


	6. January 2014

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I lied. There's just too much going on to lump it all into one chapter, I don't know what I was thinking when I outlined this nightmare. Anyway, HERE is the last little bit of happiness before we depart from Fluff Town to Angst Mountain. 
> 
> Hold on tight, kittens.

By the end of January, Darcy was starting to feel a little paranoid.

“Is it possible I angered the cosmos unknowingly and they’re punishing me by taking it out on my sex life?” she asked one frozen Wednesday, around a mouthful of tandoori chicken.

Jane looked up from her own box of vindaloo and rolled her eyes. “I don’t think the cosmos care that much about your sex life, Darce.”

“Yeah,” she huffed in agreement. “They’ve made it pretty clear that they don’t care if I have one.”

“Don’t have what?” Erik asked, conversationally as he returned from the library, a few heavy books in hand.

“Nothing,” Darcy grumbled and the same time as Jane said, “Sex with Steve.”

She shrugged her narrow shoulders at the look Darcy shot her. “You brought it up,” she reminded. “And it’s just Erik,” she reminded before returning to her food. “He doesn’t care.”

“I really don’t,” Erik informed them both as he sat down at the table and pulled the last remaining takeout box toward himself. “Carry on or change the subject,” he waved dismissively toward their end of the table. “Makes no difference to me. I’ve got an occultation to chart.”

“Anyway, I thought you were cool with taking things slow?” Jane asked, switching boxes to bite into a samosa.

“I _was,_ ” Darcy said testily. “When it was by _choice_.”

Jane hummed with understanding and her mouth full of food. “There _has_ been a lot of Avenging lately.”

Too much, Darcy thought sourly, though she didn’t say that out loud. It obviously wasn’t anyone’s fault that arms dealers and terrorist organizations seemed to step up their game after a nice little break in December. All told, Steve had been in New York for about four days since the day before New Year’s Eve. Not four days in a row. Just four days.

She’d been able to see him three of those four days and all three times the chance to level up in their relationship had been dangled in front of her like a perfectly prepared piece of All-American USDA Choice Certified Beef™. And all three times, that chance had been snatched away with the now-horribly-familiar ring of his phone.

The second time, right as she was reaching her arm back to unclasp her bra. All three times they’d gotten as far as Steve’s shirt being tossed somewhere in her apartment, though, she had reminded herself. So the universe couldn’t hate her _that_ much.

And Darcy certainly wasn’t _resentful_ of the people who needed saving and evacuating and defending from the forces of greed and evil. Of course not. Of course. That would be wrong.

But it certainly would have been nice if they could coordinate their needs in a way that didn’t leave her stuck in a state of second base limbo with a boyfriend who had to run out the door right as things were getting interesting.

“Well, you know what they say,” Jane said, still crunching thoughtfully on her samosa. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

Darcy didn’t both hiding the massive roll of her eyes. “I’m fond enough,” she grumbled.

Across the table, Erik frowned and shuffled his food and texts around, searching for the legal pad he’d been scribbling on before lunch. “I’d appreciate it if absence could make the researchers more organized. These aren’t even my books.”

“It’s just everything that was on the table,” Darcy said without concern. “I moved it so we could eat. Your stuff is there somewhere.”

Seemingly unconvinced, Erik moved the book he’d been glancing at between bites and pulled out the one beneath it. “Hang on,” he said thoughtfully, his head cocked in surprise. “Darcy, what is this?”

She squinted through her smudged glasses at the title. “Oh, sorry, that’s mine. I thought I put it back in my bag.”

“No,” he shook his head. “This can’t be yours.”

She blinked and sat back with a frown. “No,” she assured him, confused. “It is. It’s one of the ones Thor lent me.”

Erik was still shaking his head as he cleared the food and other papers away from the book in question. “This is from Thor?”

She nodded. “He said he would go through them with me and help with translation when he got back, but,” she shrugged. “I got curious and started reading on my own.”

Jane had grown curious and stood up to come around to Erik’s side of the table. Darcy watched as she peered over his shoulder and frowned with confusion. “Wait…” she tilted her head and picked up the book. It was heavy, bound in soft, musty-smelling leather and had delicate, almost silky pages that Darcy didn’t want to stop turning. “How have you been reading this?” she asked, her eyes crinkled in the corners.

“Left to right, top to bottom,” Darcy answered with a bemused laugh. “Y’know, how I’ve been doing it since I was four?”

“Are you _sure_?” Jane asked.

“Yes, Jane,” Darcy said patiently, waiting for the point to be made. “Why mess with success? It’s been working out for me so far.”

“I mean how are you reading this without a translation?”

That stopped her eyes mid-roll and made her sit up straight. “What are you talking about?” The books Thor had brought her were in English. Every last page, translated to read almost like one of her college textbooks. The tome Jane and Erik had discovered was one of the history books—this one in particular was military history. She’d been in the midst of the battle between the Aesir and the Vanir when Jane had returned with their takeout. “I don’t need a translation for those.”

Erik and Jane exchanged a look. “And just how long have you been reading Old Norse?” Erik asked, beckoning for Jane to set the book down again.

“Old Norse what?”

“Old Norse, the language,” Jane said. “The dead language that splintered up into Icelandic, Norwegian, Danish, and Swedish?” She looked at Darcy expectantly. “How long have you been able to read it?”

Darcy felt her face contort in confusion. “What the fuck are you two talking about?” she demanded and finally got to her feet. “I can’t read Old Norse—I didn’t even know there _was_ such a thing as Old Norse, for god’s sake.” She came around the table and pulled the book toward her. “Yep,” she said, dully. “Exactly as English as I left it.”

Erik only frowned and pointed to the current page, a caption under one of the breathtaking illustrations—this one of the beautiful Freya, stepping down from the pyre where the Asgardians tried to burn her at the stake. Her skin was glowing gold, her hair fell around her shoulders, the color of copper, as if she’d only absorbed the flames meant to kill her. “Read this out loud,” he commanded.

She let out a short sigh and pushed her glasses back up her nose. “Okay…it says… _Freya of the Vanir rose three times from the ashes of her own execution. Seeing that the witch’s magic was too strong to be tamed by fire or the will of the Aesir, our elders hearts were poisoned with jealousy—”_ she stopped and looked up. “Blah blah blah, blame a woman for a giant, century-long war. Y’know,” she shrugged. “Like they do.” She looked from one struck expression to the other. “What?” she asked, finally. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Darcy…” Jane looked deeply troubled. “This book isn’t in English. It’s in Old Norse. I have no idea how you’re able to understand it, but you have to at least _see_ it…don’t you?” She pointed to the page again. “Right? You can see how these characters aren’t even Roman-style letters?”

Erik got up as Darcy’s head began to swim. A part of her wondered if they were playing a trick on her, making her feel crazy for a laugh to break up the afternoon. But it didn’t really feel like that. And as Erik approached the marker board, Darcy felt her stomach twist and her temples begin to pound. He motioned her across the lab and held out a purple dry-erase marker. “Write the alphabet,” he said without preamble.

She stared at him even as her hand reached forward and grabbed the marker. She uncapped with a shake of her head. “Weirdest. Day. Ever,” she muttered and approached the board. “The alphabet?” she repeated. Erik nodded, and Darcy started writing. _A-B-C-D-E-F-G-H-I-DON’T-KNOW-WHAT-THIS-PROVES._ She motioned to her handiwork without flourish but underlined the last three words for fun. “See? Plain old written English, brought to you by Sesame Street and Hooked on Phonics.”

There was another glance exchanged. “That doesn’t make any sense,” Jane said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re _really_ not joking?”

Darcy looked wide-eyed from one scientist to the next. “How could I possibly be joking? Are _you_ guys joking?”

But they were turned toward each other now, bouncing questions off one another. “Maybe she had some kind of repressed memory?”

“How could she be reading another language and not realize it?”

“Is it possible that some Asgardian magic infected her somehow?”

“And how can’t she tell the difference?” Erik asked, almost to himself.

“And how about we stop talking about her like she’s not standing right exactly here,” Darcy suggested as she popped the cap back on the marker. “You guys are making me feel like a circus freak.”

“Sorry,” Jane muttered, shaking her head quickly. “I…need to think about this.” She pursed her lips in thought for a long moment before she looked back up at Darcy. “What have you been working on, lately?”

Darcy shrugged. “Same old,” she said, trying to remember if anything out of the ordinary had crossed her path in recent weeks. “Isn’t it possible that, since Thor brought those books from Asgard, they’ve got some kind of translation spell on them? Something that translates to the language of the reader?”

“If that were the case, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Erik reminded and returned to the table to study the book again. “And you’re certain you can’t write or speak it?”

Darcy looked from the pair of scientists to the markerboard again. “I…don’t think so,” she said. “Although…I guess I don’t know how I’d be able to tell.” She thought again. “Okay, but back to the magic book theory—why couldn’t they be coded for one specific reader at a time? Like the audiobooks at the library.”

“I guess they could be,” Jane said after she’d had a moment to consider the idea. “I don’t know—I’d have to talk to Thor about it.”

“Well what’s more likely,” Darcy heard herself say, an uncharacteristic edge to her voice. “That I suddenly learned how to read a dead language without realizing it? Or that I borrowed a book from a celestial being and it’s smart enough to be able to translate for one reader at a time?” She didn’t like the way Jane and Erik were looking at her—like there was something wrong. Like she was something to be studied beneath a microscope. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end and made her feel caged, antsy and distrusting in a way that she never had with Jane before.

But if they noticed her tone or the dark suspicion forming in her eyes, they didn’t mention it. “I’m going to do some research,” Jane said slowly. “And I’m sure once Thor is back, he’ll be able to shine some light on what exactly is going on. But you might be right, Darcy,” she said with a shrug. “We could just be overthinking this.”

“You two?” Darcy scoffed around the pressure in her chest that was getting tighter and tighter. “Never.” She checked her watch. “We should probably get back to work, guys. That occultation isn’t going to track itself.”

Another shared glance before Erik cleared his throat. “You two get started,” he said, and Darcy could almost hear his mind racing. “I’ll be back shortly—there’s something I need to do.”

 _He needs to leave this alone_ , she thought darkly as she watched him retreat. She shook her head as Jane started packing up their leftovers.

She couldn’t help but wonder where that thought had come from.

***

Something about libraries always cheered Darcy up. The smell of the paper and old glue, the mix of patrons, the bright, cheerful children’s sections and storybook ladies. The Brooklyn Public Library had been one of her favorite places in the city, ever since her aunt had first taken her there when she was four years old.

She’d studied the building’s smooth concrete façade, it’s strange curve around the door. The pillars decorated with golden men and animals from fantastic scenes. It felt so special—so important. Even then. _Aunt Beth?_ She remembered asking, clutching Beth’s hand as they stepped up onto the sidewalk. _Are you taking me to temple?_

Aunt Beth had stopped and smiled down at her, glanced quickly between the library and her niece. _I’m taking you to_ my _temple, Darcy_.

She smiled to herself and let the memory warm her as she pulled the notecard from her back pocket and studied the call numbers the librarian had scribbled down for her. She’d meant to take the afternoon PTO that Jane had offered and go home to nurse the headache she’d been fighting for the last few days. But being alone in her apartment had found her pacing and unable to rest, her fingers itching for something to do, her mind begging for something to absorb. She’d tried to listen to a podcast before she tried watching tv, but it was no use. She couldn’t concentrate. She didn’t feel well—and she felt like she had work to do. Like there was something deserving her attention—something other than her laundry and grocery shopping.

She’d ended up at the library almost without realizing it and found herself pawing through titles in the reference section. The librarian had suggested a few different titles to help curb her curiosity for Scandinavian history and Darcy had every intention of laying out a Norse timeline and matching up the history she’d learned from Thor’s books to what had been documented by her fellow humans.

It was something she’d loved about history and literature ever since she was a little girl—lining up what had been written as an explanation of what had occurred. Native American stories that explained science and weather. The geological events that coincided with stories from the bible. It was her favorite kind of pet project; something that would occupy her mind and keep her from overthinking Jane and Erik’s discovery of Thor’s books and her ability to read them.

She found two of the books on her list right at eye level, but the third was up on the highest shelf. Far from even the furthest extension of her fingers.

“You want a hand?”

Steve’s voice came from over her shoulder and startled her into a jump. She spun around, eyes wide, and found him standing behind her with a self-satisfied smile. “What are you doing here?” she asked, forcing herself to keep her voice down. Her hands went immediately to his shoulders; the chill from outside still clung to his leather jacket and he smelled like snow and cold.

His smile didn’t fade. “Scaring you, apparently.” His hands dropped to her hips. “I went to the lab, but Jane said she sent you home so,” he shrugged, “I figured I’d try here first, since it’s on the way to your apartment.”

She smiled up at him, almost dizzy with relief that he was here, home for now, right under her hands again. “Any idea how long you’re home for this time?” she asked as her hands drifted from his shoulders, down to rest on his chest where it was warmer.

“Well, the quinjet took some fire on our way out of Belarus,” he grimaced. “We all did, actually.”

Darcy frowned. “Are you okay?” she asked and took an instinctive step back, not wanting to press on any bruises or wounds she couldn’t see.

“I’m fine,” he promised and yanked her back in close. “But I think the exit was enough of a clusterfuck to make Tony pump the breaks for a minute on these manic missions he’s been digging up.”

She willed herself not to get too excited. “So maybe a few days?” she asked, hopefully.

“At least a few days,” he said and finally bent his head and kissed her. A long, slow kiss that warmed her up and made her feel like she was melting into him. He broke away a little too soon and pushed back the hair that had fallen into her face. “I’m honestly surprised to find you here,” he admitted. “Jane said she sent you home because you weren’t feeling well. Are you okay?” It was his turn to ask, his brow furrowed with concern.

She smiled again and leaned in to rest her forehead against his chin. “Just a headache,” she said, telling herself it wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t. It just lacked the context of the disconcerting, confusing last few weeks. “I’m much better now.”

That was the truth. And as if Steve could sense it, he tipped her chin back up and kissed her again. “Good,” he said softly and pinned his forehead to hers. “I am too.”

“Is your bike outside?” she asked before her teeth sank into her bottom lip. Steve nodded. “Feel like giving me a ride home?”

There was something mildly devilish in the smile he returned to her. “You sure? It’s pretty cold—I can get you a cab and meet you there if you want.”

She shook her head, not wanting to let him out of her sight any longer than she had to. “You’ll just have to warm me up when we get there.”

But by the time they reached her apartment, Darcy’s entire body felt numb from the cold, her cheeks pink from the wind and her hair was a flattened mess from the helmet Steve had given her. She dropped her bag with her books by the door and kicked off her shoes while Steve shrugged out of his jacket and closed and locked the door behind them. He frowned at the sight of her shivering in place and ran his hands over her arms a few times, warming her only briefly before she blushed. “Do you mind if I take a shower?” she asked. “I’ll just feel a lot better.”

He chuckled. “Of course not,” he assured her. “I’m the one who interrupted your half-day off,” he reminded. “You can throw me out if you want.”

She gave him a playful shove. “Don’t even joke,” she said and stretched up on her toes to brush her lips to his. “I want to soak up all the Steve time I can,” she insisted. “But I want to do it with clean hair.”

 _And shaved legs_ , she added in her mind. _And a bra that doesn’t have a hole in it._

“Take your time,” he said and kissed her back. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She went back to the bathroom and turned the water on as hot as she could stand it, willing the feeling back into her fingers and toes before she soaped herself up with the fancy citrus and vanilla soap that Jane had given her for Christmas and washed three days’ worth of curl-cream and pollution out of her hair.

Legs shaved, curls tamed and reconstructed, and with some blush and mascara to make her look a little more human, Darcy darted back to her bedroom and considered her clothing options. She bit her lip and studied the lingerie in her top drawer, wondering if she should play coy and act like she hadn’t been thinking about exactly one thing since the last time Steve was in her apartment.

“Screw it,” she said out loud and picked out a pair of lacy boy shorts and a matching bra. She threw on a comfortable, oversized t-shirt and debated for another second before she decided against pants.

She checked herself once more in the mirror, an unfamiliar flutter of nervous excitement rattled beneath her ribcage before she gave her hair a final fluff and wandered back into the living room.

Where she found Steve fast asleep on her couch, his head tilted back, mouth slightly agape.

Darcy pressed her lips together and smothered back a smile. Carefully, and trying not to make too much noise, she made herself a cup of tea, picked up one of her new library books, and dragged the blanket over her bare legs while she curled up on the other side of the couch.

She was halfway through Denmark’s eighth century when she felt a hand on her ankle and looked up to see Steve’s sleepy smile waiting for her. She smiled back and stuck a Joker card in the book before she set it on the coffee table. “Hey.”

He blinked a few times and let his fingers trail over the blanket, up and along her calf. “Hey, beautiful.” He frowned and looked at his watch. “How long was I asleep?”

She grinned and sat all the way up. “Long enough,” she declared before she leaned over the short distance between them and pressed her lips to his. She felt Steve laugh against her mouth as he reached for her and gathered her close. There was a clumsy moment of shifting when Darcy tossed away her blanket to climb into his lap and pinned her knees to either side of his narrow hips. Steve’s hands slid from her back to her hips and she swallowed the sound he made upon discovering what she wore.

His hands moved slowly, but with intention over her thighs, his mouth never leaving hers. Darcy arched herself against him, rewarding his exploration with a soft moan from the back of her throat. She opened her mouth, welcoming his tongue when he swept it inside, circling it with her own, mimicking the movement gently with her hips when she felt him growing hard against her.

Hungry for more, impatient from all the false starts they’d endured, Darcy ran her nails lightly down Steve’s chest and slipped them beneath the hem of his t-shirt. She pulled it up and over his head and let her fingers explore the planes of his warm, sculpted skin. “Fuck, you’re pretty,” she gasped when he returned his hands to her hips and moved them lower with a firm squeeze of her ass.

But Steve was more than pretty. He was perfect in the way he pushed her hair to one side to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to her neck. In the way he clutched her earlobe between his teeth and tugged, pulling a squeal of surprise and delight from her before he returned, smiling, to kissing a trail over her neck and down to the hollow of her throat. He pushed her shirt up, taking his time to slide his palms over the curve of her waist, her ribs, and finally her breasts where he groaned into her neck before he pushed the soft material all the way up and off to drop onto the floor behind them.

Darcy felt her heart hammering somewhere around her throat, felt herself growing warm and wet between her thighs as Steve kissed her again and his hands moved to span over her back. His fingers plucked almost experimentally at her bra straps, slipping beneath them before sliding them back into place. He flattened his palm over the clasp and stopped again. Darcy felt his breath hitch when he pulled away. “Can I…?” he looked up, his pupils blown with lust, framed by those criminally long eyelashes and Darcy had to blink, realizing he was asking a question.

No, she realized with another flip of her stomach, he was asking _permission_. She wet her lips and nodded. “Let me,” she said, her voice just above a whisper as she reached back and popped the clasp open with both hands. The lace and satin fell away and Darcy resisted the urge to surge forward and capture Steve’s attention with a kiss that would close his eyes.

But it was too late for that when Steve pulled her hands away from her chest and drank her in. “Darcy,” he breathed, tearing his eyes away from her body to look back into her face. “You’re so beautiful.”

She could tell it wasn’t a line; she could tell that he really meant it and alarmingly, the raw honesty in his voice and his expression brought a lump to her throat. She swallowed hard and sat back on her heels, turning his hands in hers and bringing them to her breasts. She curled her fingers, encouraging him to squeeze as her nipples hardened against his palms and she let out a moan, smothered between her lips. It took all she had to stay in that moment, enjoying this slow, hungry exploration of her body and not slip her hand between her legs to deliver herself some relief to the driving need there. She ran a hand up and into his hair, coaxing him forward to kiss her again; grateful when he took the hint and moved quickly from her lips to her throat and finally, to her breasts, where he swirled his tongue over one hardened nipple and drew a hiss of satisfaction from between Darcy’s teeth.

He switched the other side, matching pressure and intensity of his mouth with his fingers, learning quickly what she liked and what made her arch into his hands and mouth with low moans she was trying to stifle. She pitched herself forward, a flush on her cheeks and lips swollen with bites and kisses. She pinned his hands between them and scraped her teeth against his ear as she whispered, “Take me to bed, Steve.”

He’d barely had time to process her request before she got to her feet and pulled him up with her. She walked slowly ahead, leading back to her bedroom with her fingers tangled in his. The lights were off, but she paused by the door and hit a switch, illuminating the room in a soft glow of white Christmas lights.

Darcy backed him up until the backs of his knees hit her mattress. She watched his throat bob with a hard swallow when she locked her eyes with his and sank slowly to her knees. She ran her hands, almost claw-like and greedy over his thighs and pressed a soft kiss to the small patch of blond hair beneath his navel. Her fingers stilled at the button of his jeans and she looked up through dark eyelashes, seeking his consent before she went any further. He granted it with a swift nod and almost moaned with relief when she undid his jeans and slid both of his remaining layers down his legs so he stood naked before her.

Darcy’s touch was lighter this time, softer when she mapped the dips and contours of the muscles of his calves and thighs. Her hair brushed the head of his cock as it strained eagerly upward, seeking her attention. But she didn’t touch him. Not there. She ran her hands along his thighs and sank them into his ass with a firm squeeze, rising up on her knees to press another kiss to his stomach, letting his cock push briefly against her breasts before she sat back down and looked up at him again. “Can I touch you?” she asked softly.

“Please,” he choked. His eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them. She could see the lights reflected in them; she could almost see herself the way he was seeing her—open and vulnerable…and his. All his.

She wet her lips and took him in her hand with a gentle squeeze before she leaned forward and swirled her tongue over the head of his cock. Steve inhaled sharply as she slid her full lips over him and took him deep into her mouth. She swirled her tongue along the underside, sucking gently, taking care to not use her teeth. From the corner of her eye, she noticed his hands clenching at his sides, one reaching for the bed post to steady himself. She came off him and wrapped his one hand around the bed post. The other she fed into her hair, giving him permission to hold on. “I want you to look at me,” she said, her voice a husky whisper.

He opened his eyes and locked them with hers as she wrapped her lips around him again and slid slowly down the length of his cock. His fingers tightened in her hair and she moved her head with his hand, giving way to his gentle, almost timid direction. She licked her way back up and swirled her tongue around the head again when Steve’s grip on her curls indicated he liked that. She wrapped her lips just around the head and flicked her tongue against it, tasting a salty drop of precum. The taste sent another rush of heat straight to her core and Darcy swirled her tongue once more as Steve’s thighs trembled beneath her hands. She released him with a soft, wet sound and sat back on her heels. “Do you want to keep going?” she asked, fighting the urge to squirm and clench her thighs together.

Breathless above her, Steve nodded. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes glassy and bright in the low light. But he slipped his hand from her hair and held her chin, coaxing her up to her feet. “But I want you up here,” he said softly and sat back on the bed, so they were at eye level. “With me.”

Darcy smiled and wet her lips again. “I’m with you,” she promised and brought his hands to her hips where he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her lace shorts and slid them all the way down her legs. He moved back on the bed as she stepped out of the last of her clothes and came around to the bedside table where she tore into the new box of condoms she’d purchased after their last attempt. She plucked one from the box and climbed up into bed with him; she opened the red foil square with her teeth and glanced up once more, noticing his short breaths, the anxiety that was mixing with the lust in his eyes. “We can stop if you want,” she reminded gently, though she thought this amount of sexual tension might _actually_ be enough to kill her.

But Steve shook his head. “I know what everyone like to joke,” he said, finally, his old, halting speech pattern returning for a moment. “I’m not…” he stopped. “I mean, I’ve done this before,” he assured her. “Just not…” he coughed. “A lot. I just don’t want you to be disapp—”

Darcy stopped him with her lips against his. She climbed carefully over his lap and laced her fingers behind his head. “There’s nothing about you that could disappoint me,” she said softly, staring directly into his eyes. “Because I’m in love with you.”

Her confession changed his face. His eyes softened and any trace of anxiety melted away and Darcy felt that lump in her throat again as she took a shaky breath. He reached up to hold her face in his hands. “I love you too,” he said; his voice was just above a whisper.

She leaned into to kiss him again. A different kind of kiss. Slow, and patient and charged with emotion that crackled between them like fireworks. Darcy pulled away and pressed her lips to his ear. “Then let's make love Steve,” she breathed. Words she'd never said. Nothing she'd ever done before. “Please.”

And they did.


	7. February 2014

_February 2014_

 

It was dark. Too dark to see. But she could smell. A dull and metallic smell that hung heavy in the back of her throat. And she could feel. Something thick and sticky clinging to her hands, soaking into the skin beneath her nails. A pain in the back of her head, worsening with each breath.

 _Where am I?_ She thought, trying to squint in the darkness, sticking her hand out blindly to grope for a sense of surrounding. Her palm scraped against a rough surface and she pulled back with a gasp. She tried again, tentatively, and her fingers found purchase on something that felt like tree bark.

She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again, willing a shape to emerge from the inky black that enveloped her. A light flickered ahead, and Darcy felt her heart lift in relief. She stumbled toward it, feeling weak, dizzy. Forcing herself not to look down, not to let her eyes adjust and see what was left of her.

Her head throbbed steadily with each step, but she forced back the urge to stop and rest. The light was coming closer—guiding her to something safe and familiar, like the porch light of the house she’d grown up in. Her steps were slow—her feet heavy as if trudging through a muddy creek and she stumbled once.

Twice.

The second time she lost her footing entirely and hit the wet ground hard. The mud splashed up into her face and she swallowed back a cry as she realized she wasn’t able to get up. Something was pulling at her, sucking her back into the ground. Everything hurt and as she stayed there on her knees, willing herself to stand on feet that would no longer hold her, Darcy heard something.

A whisper. Almost too soft to make out. Somehow familiar and alien all at once. _Stay down, sweet girl._ She sucked in a breath and felt cool breath pass her ear. _It’s better for you here._

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to choke down her sob. “This isn’t real,” she whispered loudly. “This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t—”

A hand on her cheek cut her mantra short. “Darcy.” That voice. As warm and familiar as the thumb stroking her cheekbone. A voice she thought she’d never hear again. “Darcy, sweetheart, what did you do?”

She pulled her eyes open and sobbed again at the sight of her mother kneeling in front of her. The light she’d seen earlier came from the lantern at her mother’s side. The relief at the sight flooded her momentarily and she had to blink to refocus. “What did you say?” she asked as the hand on her cheek pulled away.

She was adjusting to the light now and could see the details in her mother’s face; she could catalogue the expressions as they changed. Shock and concern gave way to fear and disgust and Darcy wanted nothing more than to have her reach her hand out and touch her again. But she only looked with horror, with the large blue eyes she’d passed on to her daughter and shook her head sadly. “What did you _do_?”

Darcy looked down at herself then and heard a strangled gasp choke its way up from her throat. She was soaked in blood. The bog she’d been stuck in was thick, warm blood. Her hands were covered. Her clothes. The hair that hung into her face dripped with it. “I don’t…” she whimpered, her breath growing short. “I don’t know. I can’t…I didn’t—”

“You can’t trust him, Darcy,” her mother said as the revulsion ebbed in her face and was replaced by something much, much worse. Sadness. Compassion. Grief. “There is only ice in his heart.”

She sat up in bed, gasping for breath. Her hands still raised in front of her face—the scent of the blood was still thick in her nose, suffocating her with each breath she tried to take. There was no controlling the sobs now, no choking them back as she tried to scrub at her skin, trying to rid herself of the feeling still clinging to her skin.

Beside her, Steve woke with a groan of confusion before he sat up quickly. “Darcy,” he said urgently, gripping her by the shoulders. “Darcy!” he raised his voice over her frantic cries. “Darcy, wake up!”

It wasn’t until he shook her that the spell was broken. She gasped again and blinked furiously, forcing away the sight of the blood, the look on her mother’s face. “Steve?” she asked in a hoarse voice. “What’s—”

Steve let go of her shoulders and took her face in his hands. “You were having a nightmare,” he said, searching her face for recognition. “It’s okay,” he promised, breathing deeply to help her match her breath to his. “You’re okay. It was just a dream.”

Just a dream, Darcy repeated to herself as her hands went around his neck and she pulled herself close, so he could wrap her in his arms.

Just a dream.

His arms went around her, holding her tight against him while one hand petted her hair. “You’re okay,” he said again. “You’re safe.”

She nodded against his neck. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry.”

Steve pulled back to look at her face again, looking confused. “Sorry for what?” he asked and stroked her cheek again.

Darcy opened her mouth and closed it again. “I don’t…” she swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”

He nodded with understanding and kissed her forehead. “It’s okay,” he repeated. “Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?”

She shook her head. “No, no I’m fine. It was…” she swallowed again and forced herself to steady. “It was just a nightmare.”

Steve nodded again and started shifting so they could lay down together. His arm draped over waist and kept her locked beside him. He drew little designs with the tips of his finger, slow and soothing strokes, over the skin of her stomach beneath her shirt. “You want to talk about it?” he asked after a moment’s calm had passed over them.

“It was…” She wanted to tell him. About the blood. The pain. The guilt. Her mother. But something stopped her. “I don’t even remember it now,” she said softly.

Steve kissed her temple and was back to sleep long before she was. She lay in the dark, listening to him breathe, trying to take comfort in his arms.

But she was unable to shake the memory of her mother’s look of horror.

 _You can’t trust him¸_ the words echoed in Darcy’s mind as the night sky gave way to gray, early morning light. _There is only ice in his heart._

She found herself in the reference library for Erik a few days later, scrolling with bleary eyes through the index screen. She blinked and tried to focus, not bothering to hide her yawn from the retrieval bots in the room. The sound of the door sliding open surprised her as she submitted her request and she turned around to see Dr. Banner pulling up the index on his own StarkPad.

He glanced up with a look of surprise. “Hey,” he said, softening to his usual, mildly apologetic smile. “Didn’t see you there.”

Darcy offered a smile back, but she could tell it didn’t meet her eyes. “How’s your science this afternoon?”

Banner submitted his request and closed his leather portfolio around the device before he looked up again. “Uh, it’s good,” he answered with a shrug. He opened his mouth to continue before he closed it and appeared to change his mind. “Do you really want to know what we’re working on? Or were you just being polite?”

Her smile felt a little more genuine this time. “If I was a little more up-and-at-em today,” she shrugged, “I’d probably be all for hearing about it.”

His smile fell to a look of concern. “Not sleeping well?”

Her shoulders moved again. “I..um…” she frowned, wondering if she should keep going. If this was something he’d even be interested in. Maybe he’d just asked to be polite too. “Not the last few nights,” she admitted before she could talk herself out of it. “I had a…”

A nightmare, she reminded herself. It was just a nightmare. What good would it do to try to make someone as brilliant and logical as Dr. Banner understand that a simple nightmare had kept her from sleeping three nights in a row. Not entirely, she’d drift off for a few hours here and there, but inevitably, some piece of it would return. The smell. The feeling of blood soaking into her clothes. The whisper in her ear telling her she belonged there. And she’d be awake the rest of the night, creeping around either her apartment or Steve’s trying not to wake him.

But Bruce was looking at her with calm, patient eyes. If he’d started out by just being polite, her pause had awakened his curiosity. He didn’t look like he was preparing to scoff or judge her. As the retrieval bot returned with the updated texts Erik had requested, she coughed and tried again. “Did you ever feel like there might be something super wrong with you, but you’re the only one who knows it?”

The corner of Bruce’s lips lifted in a rueful smile. “Every day,” he said. “But I only _wish_ I was the only one who knew it.”

Realizing who she was talking to, Darcy resisted the urge to slam the heel of her hand against her forehead. “Sorry,” she said in a rush. “That was really insensitive—I’m fine,” she assured him. “Just…forget I said anything.”

She made to grab for the books and head out, but Bruce put up a hand. “Darcy, please,” he didn’t reach for her arm to stop her, but his tone halted her steps. “It wasn’t insensitive; I was just trying to make a joke,” he assured her as she turned around. “And if there’s something that’s worrying you, I’d be happy to try and help.”

Her palms felt clammy against the covers of the books and she swallowed the dryness that had suddenly parched her throat. “Have you ever heard of someone…” she paused, trying to put her concerns into words without sounding crazy. “Someone developing abilities without realizing it? Or maybe some kind of—power transference?”

Bruce looked blank. “I’ve never looked into it,” he admitted. “When I was—” it was his turn to cough uncomfortably. “When the other guy showed up, I tried to find any cases that were remotely similar, but most of what I found always came with a catalyst of some kind.” He took off his glasses and cleaned them on the edge of his soft blue shirt. “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen an ability develop without some inciting incident or at the very least, a genetic mutation.”

She nodded slowly, running through the possibilities in her head. “There’s just been some weird stuff going on lately,” she said finally. “And I’m starting to wonder if it’s been going on longer than I realized.”

He mirrored her nod with understanding. “And that’s part of why you aren’t sleeping?”

She sighed. “No, well—not...really?” Her nose scrunched in thought. “I had a really bad nightmare,” she admitted, deciding that if he hadn’t already dismissed her, there was no point in withholding anything else. “A few nights ago. And it felt _so real_. I haven’t been able to sleep since.”

Bruce’s own requisition of books was delivered via bot and he set a hand on the stack. “How often does a nightmare affect you like that?” he asked.

“Never,” she answered honestly. “I can’t even remember the last time I had one let alone…”

He waited to see if she’d finish her thought, but she didn’t. “So, what made this one different?”

Darcy swallowed hard and thought about her mother. About the guilt and the sinking suspicion that the whispered voice had been right. That it would be better for her to stay there, in the blood and the muck. As if that was somehow what she deserved. “It didn’t feel like a nightmare,” she admitted softly. “It felt like a warning.”

 

***

 

The nightmare didn’t repeat, but its effects lingered for much longer than her conversation with Bruce. By the end of the week, Darcy was exhausted and only too happy to have her apartment to herself.

She needed to sleep, she told herself. To relax and stop worrying and not be distracted by Steve and his kisses and hands that turned her to putty. He’d left earlier that afternoon and stopped by the lab to give her a kiss goodbye.

“Get some rest,” he said softly, pressing his forehead to hers in the hallway outside Jane’s lab. “I’m a little worried about you.”

Darcy had smiled and nodded. “I’ll be fine,” she’d answered automatically. “If I’m still wonky by Monday, I’ll go to a doctor,” she promised. “Okay?”

Steve had mirrored her nod and kissed her again. “I don’t know how long we’ll be,” he said regretfully. “A week? Maybe two?”

The idea of being alone for more than a week made her chest hurt, but she’d shrugged. “Strike Team’s gotta Strike,” she said with a smile that Steve returned. “Just be safe,” she added.

“I will.” It was his turn to promise and he added, with a soft smile, “I love you.”

The memory of those words brought a smile to her face as she turned the key to her apartment and pushed open the door. The smile stayed there when her eyes fell on the vase of flowers on her end table—a cheerful bouquet of daisies, her favorite. Their friendly white and yellow blooms a stark and welcome contrast to the early February gloom she’d just braved to get home.

She shrugged out of her coat and unwound the scarf from her neck. The heat had been turned down the last few days in an attempt to minimize her utility bill, but she gave in to her chilled bones and cranked it up again. Before she could make a decision to begin her weekend with a cup of tea or a glass of wine, there was a knock at the door.

Confused and not expecting anyone, Darcy checked the peephole and pulled the door open, surprised to find none other than the god of thunder on her welcome mat. “Hey,” she greeted and stepped to one side to welcome him in. “Long time, no see.”

Thor smiled in return and politely removed his shoes and wet, snowy coat. “Yes, it has been,” he said, and his deep voice filled the small living room. “Is this a bad time?”

She shook her head and motioned to the couch. “No,” she said, feeling a little on edge. “What’s up? How was Asgard?”

He looked troubled for a moment as he sat on the couch she offered. “Chaotic,” he admitted. “There may have been a breach in the security of our prison cells. Heimdall has sensed trouble.”

Darcy’s stomach turned and twisted unpleasantly. “That doesn’t sound like a fun visit home,” she said and dropped into the arm chair across from him. “How bad do they think it is?”

Thor moved his massive shoulders in a shrug. “They’re uncertain. It’s difficult to tell when—or even if—the security measures failed and what all might have escaped.”

“But there’s a chance it could be nothing?” she asked.

“A chance,” Thor conceded. “But it seems unlikely.”

“Isn’t Heimdall supposed to be all-seeing?” she asked with a lift of one eyebrow. “Wouldn’t he be able to tell if someone had broken out of prison?”

“We would hope,” Thor said. “But even he will admit that there are some forces he can only feel—whatever happened, whatever is coming, it’s possible he will remain blind to it.”

Darcy’s fingers tapped thoughtfully against her lips. “So, the prison break could really just be the tip of the yikesberg, huh?”

Thor smiled and shook the train of thought from his head. “I apologize, I didn’t come here to worry you with Asgardian security problems. Although your questions about Heimdall have reminded me that I spoke to him about you.”

She blinked in surprise. “About me?”

He nodded. “He turned his eye upon you at my request. After Jane told me about your aptitude for the books I’d brought you, I was concerned that perhaps there was a force oppressing you that we could not detect.”

Darcy’s heart seized. “And…”

But Thor shook his head. “There was nothing,” he said and offered a hopeful smile. “Heimdall could see nothing out of the ordinary in or around your mind.”

She thought she’d feel relieved, but she didn’t. “Then how…” she trailed off and let her gaze fall on the stack of books she’d been working her way through since Christmas Eve. “How am I doing it?”

His lips turned again in a frown that was both thoughtful and compassionate. “That I can’t say,” he said quietly. “But it doesn’t appear to be by mystical forces.” He watched with concern as she sank back in the armchair and rubbed at her eyes. “Is there something else bothering you?”

“My head,” she admitted quietly. “It hurts all the time lately. Like there’s something pounding at the back of my skull trying to get out.” She dropped her hand and looked up. “And I have this horrible feeling that something is really, really wrong but I can’t remember what.”

Thor’s look of concern didn’t shift. “Have you spoken to anyone else about this?”

She shrugged. “Banner for a minute. He told me to go to the medical wing for some tests if I don’t feel better by Monday but…” she sighed. “I don’t know. It doesn’t really _feel_ medical.” She frowned. “It just feels…dangerous.” The word slipped from her lips before she could stop it.

“Dangerous?” Thor repeated dubiously. “What do you mean?”

Darcy looked up again and saw him eyeing her warily. She felt that unease again—the one that had stirred to life in the lab a few weeks ago. She forced a half-hearted laugh. “I don’t know,” she lied. “I’m just really sleep-deprived and I’m not making sense.”

He didn’t look convinced. “I’ll let you rest,” he said, reaching toward the messenger bag he’d placed on the couch to his left. “But I wanted to give you this.” From within the bag, he lifted a large package, wrapped in muslin and tied together with twine. He set it on the table and untied the string, letting the swaths of fabric fall away to reveal another book. This one was far older and far more precious than the textbooks he’d sent her earlier. This one felt rare. Important. Too important to be sitting on her coffee table.

She got up from the chair and knelt at the table, afraid to touch the thick tome before her. “What is it?”

“This is the Völuspá,” Thor said, and the world rolled musically off his tongue. “It’s the prophecy of the Seeress—the story of the life of Yggdrasil, from the beginning to the end.”

Darcy tilted her head and watched, curiously, as the word Thor had just spoken appeared on the thick leather cover as if someone had taken a pen of golden ink to it before her eyes. “It’s…beautiful,” she said, still keeping her distance. She tore her eyes away. “Why did you bring it for me?”

Thor smiled. “I thought it might interest you,” he said and opened the first page.

“If you seek neither knowledge or truth,” Darcy read slowly. The words appeared as they had on the cover, as if they were being written just for her. “You seek not what awaits beneath these pages.” She frowned and looked up. “Not really the fly-off-the-shelf book jacket blurb I was expecting,” she joked.

“It contains nothing more and nothing less than the truth of your world, Darcy,” Thor said seriously. “Of all of our worlds. Including how they end. Not everyone is prepared to meet such things head-on.”

She raised her eyebrows. “And you think that I am?”

“I think I trust you enough to know your own limits,” he said with another smile. “And there is part of me that is curious to see how much you can understand on your own.”

“Are you testing me?” she asked with a laugh.

“Hardly,” Thor shook his head and got to his feet. “But I’m very much looking forward to discussing it with you when you’ve finished. How are you liking the others?”

“I love them,” she said honestly. “I had a question about the Codex, though.”

“Yes?” Thor turned back on his way to the coat rack.

“It seems like there were pages missing?”

He looked impressed. “You really have been reading closely,” he commented. “Yes, there are eight pages believed to have been lost millennia ago.” He reached for his coat again. “But most people—even our scholars on Asgard—say it’s difficult to tell.”

She nodded. “Yeah, the story moves along pretty smoothly without them, but there’s just one part where it felt like I was missing something.”

“Well,” Thor shrugged back into his coat and stepped into his heavy boots. “There’s nothing missing from that,” he motioned to the coffee table again. “I promise.”

She followed his gaze and frowned thoughtfully. “You’re not like…stealing sacred texts for me, right?”

He grinned. “That depends on your definition of stealing, of course.”

“Of course,” Darcy echoed. “I’ll just read it fast and hope no battle-hardy space librarians come knocking on my door.” She reached out to open the door for him but Thor put a hand over hers on the doorknob. Startled, Darcy looked up to see his eyes narrowed in concern, his gaze locked on her wrist. “What’s wrong?”

He closed his fingers around her palm and twisted her arm so her left wrist was face-up. “Darcy, where did you get this?” he demanded. His voice was soft but his tone firm and commanding.

She felt her face twist in confusion. “My…scar?” she asked, squinting at the shiny mark on her skin that was barely visible after so many years. “I…” she blew out a breath between her lips. “I don’t even remember. I think I burned it on something at summer camp when I was like, ten years old.” She gently pulled her hand back. “Jesus, what’s wrong with you?”

Thor didn’t answer. His face did not relax as Darcy pulled her sleeve down self-consciously and rubbed at her wrist. He hadn’t hurt her, but she felt like she’d done something wrong. Like she’d let him see something he wasn’t supposed to see.

But that was ridiculous, she told herself. Who cared if anyone saw her ugly summer camp scars?

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “That mark…” he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I reacted badly. I’m sure it’s…”

“It’s what?” she prodded when he trailed off, that now-familiar weight of dread growing heavier in her stomach. “You’re sure it’s what?”

But Thor shook his head again and put on a smile he didn’t mean. “It’s nothing,” he assured her. “I’m just an old man,” he said with a pat of her arm. “Seeing things that aren’t there. You’re perfectly fine,” he promised, and squeezed her shoulder.

But as Darcy watched him walk down the hall, she could tell he didn’t believe that.

She didn’t believe it either.


End file.
